They turn night into day, and day into night...
by WYSIWYG
Summary: What happens when muggles unleash their most destructive weapons on the wizarding world. Heavy american influence, and chapter 14 now up! R/R thanks.
1. Pre-Emptive Strike

They turn night into day, and day into night

They turn night into day, and day into night

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It had been another day at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in potions, listening to Snape having another go at Neville for melting his fifth cauldron this term. Other things were on their minds, however, that were a lot more important than a fellows pupils mistreatment at the hands of a teacher. 

It had been nearly two months since Voldemort had risen to power, declaring war on mudbloods and muggles, and had begun a series of killings and abductions that had the entire country in a state of panic. But they weren't the only ones panicking at the attacks by the death-eaters.

Deep within a heavily fortified bunker in the middle of the peak district, a group of soldiers filed into a room. They each carried a grim look upon their faces, as they passed a series of documents to a man seated in the centre of the room.

"Are you sure there is no other option, you realise that this decision is final, and its affects will live on for many generations?" The seated man furrowed his brow, and gave an anxious sigh.

"Sir, if there was another option, we would use it, but the situation is this, we have located one of their bases, we know what they can do, and we will only have one shot at them."

"Very well, you have my permission." He signed a single sheet of paper.

Ten minutes, a bright light appearing outside the window interrupted a quiet potions lesson. Even Snape stopped telling Harry Potter off. Then, a roar greater than a thousand thunderbolts ripped through the air. Everyone in the room ducked beneath their desks, their fingers pressed tightly in their ears. Then the air began to get warm, pleasantly mild at first, but within a few seconds it became scalding hot. Screams of agony filled the room as people fell over, clutching bright red burn marks on their unprotected arms.

Then, their world was turned upside down. The windows smashed, a massive wind flooded the room, it picked up furniture and smashed it around the room, paper, quills and even peoples robes caught on fire, more screams punctured the air, barely audible over the noise generated by the sudden rush of air. Boiling cauldrons lost their balance, sending their contents over anyone unfortunate to be nearby. 

Then masonry began to fall from the ceiling, followed by massive chunks of the hard, stone ceiling. Block after block came tumbling down. One came into contact with Snape's head, killing him instantly. No one knew what was happening, they were all in too much pain or panic to care. Then, after what had seemed an age, it all stopped.

Silence. Interrupted by one last stone falling, but silence once again filled the air. 

A/N no prizes for guessing what happened, but if you want me to continue, say so when you read and review this, okay? 


	2. The Aftermath

# Chapter 2: The Aftermath 

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, the scenes of injury and pain slowly flooding her view. She tried to move her arm, but found it trapped underneath a table that had been pinned down by a piece of the stone roof that had caved in. She struggled vainly, but the stone was too heavy, and the burns on her other hand and arm made any attempt at pulling extremely painful.

She relaxed a moment, and let her eyes focus on the rest of the room. Many people were trapped underneath overturned furniture or fallen masonry, whilst others sat clutching terrible burns, some almost making Hermione bring up her breakfast. Lavender had a massive burn down her back where her robes had caught fire, and Seamus was clutching his hand, blood soaking through his fingers. His face was red, apart from his eyes, where white handprints showed how he covered himself from the blast.

Then she remembered.

"Harry, Ron" she cried, only to be answered by moans of agony and despair. Then she spotted Ron, he was sitting on the floor, a vacant expression on his face and his arms covered in burn marks and blood.

"Ron," Hermione whispered, Ron slowly turned to her, "help me, please?" Ron slowly got, and tried to grab his wand. It turned to dust in his hand, its magical core giving a few bright sparks before it too disintegrated. He stared at the pile of ash in his hand. He closed his hand into a fist, and the ashes, now stained with blood, poured out like red sand onto the ground below. He stood there for a moment, looking at his empty hand, and turned to Hermione.

"What, what happened?" he stuttered, glancing around the classroom. Tears began to form in his eyes. He walked over to where Hermione was trapped. He just about managed to shift the stone, and lifted the table enough to let Hermione crawl out. She got up, and hugged Ron like some friend she hadn't seen in years. They held each other for what seemed like an eternity. They had both started crying, their ears filled with terrible sounds of their fellow classmates.

"Come on" Hermione whispered. "We have to find Harry, and then help the others." She went for her wand, and was relieved to find it blackened, but intact and functioning. They found Harry underneath another pile of stones. Luckily for Harry, the stone pieces had kept him well covered, resulting in much less severe burns that the other students had. They began to help the other students nearby by summoning bandages and removing rocks and furniture where it had trapped people.

Mrs Granger walked back into the house after watering her garden. It was one of her few days off, and she was going to enjoy it. Gardening was one of her passions, and she was constantly annoyed that her job didn't leave her enough time to manage a proper garden. 

She sat down in the living room, removed her shoes, and turned on the telly to watch the news. She picked up a magazine and settled back deeper into the armchair. Then the first news story caught her attention.

"The British government confirmed a few minutes ago that a nuclear device was launched and detonated in the mountains of Scotland. The device, a single 125 kiloton warhead, about seven times more powerful than the device that levelled Hiroshima, was used against a large terrorist base in the area, we now take you over live to the defence minister, the right honourable Sir Brian Dunford." The defence minister appeared in a screen in the top left hand corner of the screen. "Well, minister, firstly, why did you use these powerful weapons when there are other alternatives available?

"Well, first of all, the size of this facility was huge, way too big to destroy with any other weapon we had. This group, if not destroyed instantly, would have dispersed immediately and we would not have another attempt at destroying them in one go."

"So, the attack, achieved its purpose?"

"Well yes, if you at these photos taken by a reconnaissance plane about ten minutes after the blast…" A few pictures of a burnt out landscape appeared, with what looked the remains of a large fort or castle in one corner and little black marks, which had once been houses in the other corner. And in the centre was an unmistakable crater, nearly twice as large as the remains of the castle, and a massive white cloud hung over the centre, nearly level with the camera. "As you can see, the entire area has been devastated…" Mrs Granger didn't need to hear anymore, she recognised the area from pictures her daughter had sent her. She got up, and ran to the telephone, and started dialling her husband's workplace. The 'engaged' tone filled her ears, and tears began to fill her eyes. She activated the 'ring back' button, and returned to the telly.

"Well, minister, do you believe it was right to use nuclear weapons, certainly of this magnitude, over the British Isles? There will be a strong concern from many people about the effects of fallout, particularly in the Scottish countryside?

"Well, the site of the explosion contained the blast, sending most of the cloud and therefore most of the radiation straight up into the atmosphere, and so by the time it returns to earth it will be harmless. However, the entire area of this map will be declared off limits to all civilian activity, including air travel. Anyone breaking this cordon will be arrested, and any aircraft or vehicle entering without permission and refusing to stop will be dealt with using all the force required. Government scientists are currently checking radiation levels all over Scotland and in no inhabited area has there been an exposure greater than the recommended safety level. That is all we have to say on the subject."

"One last question, minister, what are the chances of any survivors?"

"The likelihood of anyone surviving the impact is so remote that it is fairly safe to assume that no-one survived. Anyone who was not killed in the initial blast would be dead in an hour or so from acute radiation poisoning.

"Thank…" Mrs Granger turned the telly off. She felt a surging hatred rise in her chest. She started yelling.

"Bastards, you stupid bastards!!! Hermy, my sweet, oh god, no, please no…" she broke down into tears. She picked up a plate off the cabinet and threw straight on the floor as hard as she could. The plate smashed over the floor, before she too collapsed, her eyes red, her hands in fists, and her mouth cursing everyone else on the planet. She had lost her daughter, to some bastards who couldn't care less. 

A/N Well, I had to write a new part after all. So R/R please, and those of a squeamish nature should not have read it. I hate nuclear weapons personally, but sometimes reading the books you learn that wizards don't view muggles as being much of a force to reckon with. The purpose of this story is see how wizards react to the true power of muggles when they are threatened. You'll learn the proper reason why they used nukes later.

Anyway, disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley etc belong to JK Rowling. The warhead belongs to the British and American governments, and Brian Dunford belongs to moi, if anyone cares.

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	3. Revelations

# Chapter 3: Revelation

Deep within what remained of Hogwarts castle, the few, injured and confused survivors settled down to discuss what to do. 

"What the hell happened?" asked a very angry Draco, nursing burns and a massive cut across his forehead.

"It must have been the Death-eaters," said a shell-shocked Dean Thomas, "they here, they're going to kill us all!"

"Shut up Dean, we need to keep our heads if we're going to survive this," yelled Ron. "Right, does anyone have a sensible suggestion as to what happened?"

"Oh my, they didn't" muttered Hermione, a look of realisation dawning on her face. "A nuclear bomb."

"What?" Said every pure born witch and wizard in the room. All the muggleborn students turned away as they realised that Hermione was right.

"A nuclear bomb, its…it's a…a muggle weapon, a powerful, city destroying weapon, so powerful they have never been used in 50 years."

"Muggle, muggles, you mean muggles are responsible for this?" Draco roared. He moved to where Hermione was sitting, "you are saying muggles are responsible for this?" He spat at Hermione, who came close to tears, but looked straight into Draco's eyes and muttered;

"Draco, if you, and your dad hadn't killed and destroyed all those muggles, then none of this would have happened. You brought this on yourself, _Malfoy._" 

The rest of the students fought desperately to keep the two adversaries apart.

"You muggle whore, you stupid mudblood bitch!!"

"You stupid, worthless, idiotic bastard, Malfoy"

The argument continued for several minutes, before both of the students ran out of insults and both descended into a cold silence.

"Well, should we try and get out?" Asked an apprehensive Ron, still wincing because of his injuries.

"No," replied Hermione, "nuclear weapons leave traces of a poison called radiation where they have detonated these bombs. If we left here, within an hour or so we would be dead, no we better stay here, at least, for now." She went silent again, covering her face and bringing her knees up to her head.

Lord Voldemort paced the room, his red, almost reptilian, eyes moving from one person to the next. He stopped at the last one, before turning to the others.

"Leave us," he hissed. The men, all in death-eater garb, respectfully complied, and in a few seconds, all the men apart from the last one had left the room. Voldemort turned to face him again.

"Well, Lucius, it has been a great day for us."

"Indeed, my lord." The death-eater replied.

"It has turned out better than I thought, not only do most of the wizarding community now hate muggles, but most of our greatest enemies were destroyed. Hogwarts, having withstood everything I could through at it, removed out of existence by mere muggles, almost as soon as they learnt where they had to strike, very efficient, and, contrary to what I believe in, quite…_impressive_."

"Yes, my lord." There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh, yes, your son, it was unfortunate about him and the attack, but we must all make sacrifices…" Lucius just stood there, not even muttering his almost automatic "my lord".

"Lucius, your son died in the service of the death-eaters, but he, and you, will be remembered."

"Yes, my lord."

"How easy it was, simply supply the muggles with a little information, and just let them do the dirty work. Simple, but efficient. Maybe we could use this tactic again, eliminate our enemies, and say for instance, our enemies all over the world, say, in the United States."

"America, sir?"

"Yes, then the Americans would counter attack, and destroy all our opponents here."

"Yes, my lord, but how are we going to get the British and American muggles to fight, sir? From our intelligence, we know that they are very close allies."

"Hmm, we will see Lucius, we will see."

A/N Hmm, see where the story is going? R/R, and tell me what you think. The idea for a war came from a book called This United State, I'd recommend reading it. I know what radiation actually is as well, I just had to described in a wizarding sense.


	4. The Dawn

# Chapter 4: The Dawn 

Deep within the remains of the castle, the surviving band of students slept uneasily, each one's dreams punctuated by their own distorted view of the disaster that had wiped out the world they had come to know as _their _world. It was as if god himself had simply said that this place was no longer meant to be.

Hermione had removed the remains of her charred robe to form a pillow on one of the blocks that littered the floor. Her dream was terrifying experience; she dreamt she was standing in a field, Harry and Ron standing before her, then the blast of the A- bomb reached them. She watched helplessly as their bodies disintegrated before her, first their skin, then their muscle and organs and then finally their skeletons, all burning away. She screamed, but nothing came out of her mouth. She looked at her own hand, and saw the same thing happening to her. Then, she felt herself falling, faces flashing past her, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and every other person who she knew was above the surface, and were now reduced to the very atoms that their bodies were made out of. She started to call out, reach out with her hand, trying to grab these people, but she wasn't quick enough, and these people floated away from her grasp.

She woke up. Tears flowing down her face, she looked up to see Harry's deep green eyes staring down on her. 

"Oh Harry…" she whispered, struggling to form words as she tried to recollect the events of the past few hours.

"Sshhh", he comforted her, and pulled her close to him. Neither wanted to let go, they both didn't want to lose the last thing they cared about. Hermione turned her head. Ron was on the floor, using Harry's wand to shine a light over Lavender, who looked even worse now, infection was spreading in her wound, and only a few weak moans came from her mouth. Parvati sat close to her, holding her friend's hand, her own covered in blood-soaked bandages. Neville, who had escaped major injuries, was now rocking around on his backside, muttering nonsense words and moving his eyes over the room. The blast had sent him over the edge.

The Slytherins hadn't fared much better. Draco and Pansy were sitting side by side, Pansy's face was badly burned, and bandages covered the entire left side of her face, and frayed holes bore witness to collision with falling stonework. Crabbe and Goyle both sported the usual mixture of burns and cuts, and both sat silently behind Draco. 

No one spoke. Words wouldn't do anything to help them now. Hermione settled down with Harry again, and fighting an incredible urge to regurgitate her last meal. Her eyes closed again. Her thoughts went now to her parents; did they think she was dead? Or hadn't they been told? Right now Hermione would have given anything to be with her parents, safe in her bed, warm and cosy, or perhaps with a nice cup of hot chocolate in her hand whilst reading a book of some sort. She slowly drifted off to sleep, a cool breeze helping to sooth her sore burns.

Mr and Mrs Granger sat on their sofa, hugging each other in silence. No one could understand a parent's sorrow, particularly when they didn't know what had happened to their precious daughter. They had left the phone off the hook, and instead kept the telly on, hoping to catch some news on what had happened.

There had been a lot of coverage of the explosion, but it was mostly some obscure ex-MOD scientist discussing the impact of the bomb and how it would affect world peace and something else. The Grangers didn't care, they only wanted their daughter back, or at least know she was dead, so they could at least start to mourn. 

Mr Granger had phoned the MOD hotline, but the only information he could get was not to travel to the restricted area. He had a picture of his daughter, which had been magically developed so the people in it moved. He set it down on a table, and he and his wife watched as the little waved back at them, a smile on her face and a pile of books under her arm.

In the North Sea, the USS Powell was observing the effects of the nuclear explosion. Her captain saw nothing wrong when a large airborne target appeared on the radar screen. Just another RAF plane looking around, he thought. He saw nothing wrong as it flew towards his vessel. But the target didn't change course, instead it dived right at the warship. Its lumbering mass slowly turning as the object appeared out of the night sky off the starboard side of the ship.

Less than a minute later, its back was broken and the superstructure was ravaged by fire. The vessel quickly went under. There were no survivors. Just a few broken fittings and loose life jackets floating in a tranquil sea.

A/N Sorry for making Americans die, no offence really, but a necessary part of the story. What do you think? R/R plez.


	5. Daylight

Chapter 5: Daylight

Chapter 5: Daylight 

The dawn light filtered through the tiny cracks in the roof of the potions classroom. The surviving students started stirring from a restless night, or merely continuing their silent vigil of their world that had been wiped out and left lying on top of them. Lavender had gone silent, and only the occasional bat of an eyelid betrayed the fact that she was alive at all. It had been around 18 hours since the explosion, and now hunger and anxiety about what had happened above them.

The students had split into two camps over this problem. One group, comprising of most of the surviving Slytherins and a few of the pure born Gryffindors, had wanted to dig their way out, but the other group, comprising all of the muggle borne and the remaining pure born Gryffindors had opted to stay in their shelter and wait for rescue.

Arguments and insults soon began to fly between both sides, mostly aimed at the muggle borns as being part of a despicable and inhumane enemy. Open fighting had almost broken out by the time Harry yelled out.

"For god's sake people, please, we're already in so much mess as it is, and fighting is only to make things worse." He cried, begging for common sense to be restored.

"Thanks to _those _people," spat out Draco, pointing an accusing finger at Hermione and Dean.

"Draco, SHUT THE HELL UP!!" Bellowed Harry. Draco stopped, and stared viciously at Harry. "There will be no more insults, name calling, whatever. That is final. Now, we are going to try and figure out what to do."

"Hey," cried Draco, cringing slightly as he caught a tender burn on a sharp edge, "who made _you_ leader?"

"Listen Draco, I am, at the moment the only person here who hasn't lost their head in panic or anger. Now, we either sort it out properly, or we sit here and do nothing." Draco didn't reply. "Right, Hermione, do you know how long it takes for this 'radiation' to pass?"

"No," replied Hermione, helping Parvati change Lavenders bandages, which were now so full of pus that a small pool of yellow had formed under her immobile body.

"What are the f**k are you asking her for?" Yelled an enraged Draco, glaring at Hermione as though she was dragon dung smeared over his Nimbus 2001. "She's, she's, one of _them_!"

"Malfoy!!" Replied Harry, in a tone almost as nasty as Draco's. "Shut up, or I'll do it for you!! I would trust Hermione with my life, hell I am doing now, and if she says she doesn't know, then she doesn't know." Malfoy moved directly in front of Harry, and the two sized each other up. The tension was unbearable, but Malfoy eventually backed down. He beckoned Crabbe and Goyle over, and told them to start shifting rocks from the collapsed doorway. Harry went to stop them, but was stopped by Hermione's hand. 

"He's right, you know, we've got at least as good a chance out there as in here, besides, we have to do something, if only for the sake of the sane." She went back to helping Lavender and Parvati. Harry turned to Draco and his 'yes' men who were shifting heavy boulders out of the way. 

Harry sat down. Lack of sleep and hunger were affecting him, but he had to keep himself and the group together. Every option went through his head. Each had its merits, and each had its pitfalls. He kept remembering this poem; he couldn't remember where he heard it. _If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you _then a memory blank, and then another bit would appear. Harry tried desperately to remember what the poem was, as though it would help him somehow. Then it clicked. Courage does not always mean doing some act of sheer chivalry to save a damsel in distress. No, true courage was the ability to stand up to those who want to destroy what you have created, to undo what you had done. He had to take charge, he knew it, he had to fight, to stand up and take control from all those who would take it away from him. He, _he_, had to get these people out, together, all of them, for the sake of everyone here and in the name of everyone who had perished that day. No, no one else was going to die, not with him.

"Right, Hermione, Parvati. Get Lavender ready to travel, transfigure a bit of furniture if you have to. Everyone else, go and help Crabbe and Goyle, now!!" Everyone turned to stare at him, most with expressions of shock or surprise. "Well," continued Harry "get a move on!" 

Like Shepard-less sheep that had found their master, the students set about their assigned task. Suddenly, they had what had previously been missing. Hope. Something more powerful than even the biggest nuclear bomb, an emotion deep within anyone, even those who seemed to have lost everything. All it needed was a little spark, like a powder keg with a fuse. There was little to go on, only the prospect of what was outside, but its effect was extraordinary.

As the dawn sun appeared over then village of Kenknock in central Scotland, the sleepy inhabitants were awakened by an unusual growling noise outside their windows. They opened their curtains and shutters to reveal a column of army vehicles heading up the only road into the village. Headed by an armoured landrover and backed up by three warrior armoured personnel carriers and about ten heavy lorries, the convoy looked liked it was entering a battle zone rather than a peaceful Scottish village. 

The convoy arrived in the village square, and troops started jumping out of the warriors, whilst opening the back of the trucks and going to each door and knocking until each door had been opened. Ten minutes later, the last truck disappeared round a mountain, and the village was abandoned, breakfasts abandoned, doors left open, and suitcases littering the floor of the village green. A single Lynx flew down the valley, Video and Infrared cameras searching for any stragglers.The only noise came from an upturned Television set in one person's front room.

_"In many villages in central Scotland, a similar scene is being repeated that has not been witnessed since the Chernobyl accident. The Army and Air force ground units have been evacuating over twenty thousand people whose homes will be contaminated by the fall out of yesterday's nuclear explosion._

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_The Royal Navy confirmed yesterday that the device used was a Trident 2 missile launched from the HMS Vanguard and carrying a single WE-177 warhead. This device, creating an explosion equivalent to one hundred and twenty thousand tons of conventional high explosive, is the largest weapon ever used in anger in the history of warfare. By comparison, the atomic weapons used by the United States on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were equivalent to fifteen and twenty-two thousand tons respectively._

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_This new crisis_ _has been caused by a change in weather patterns. Originally it was hoped that the light winds would contain the fallout in the region of the cordoned-off area. However, a new artic weather front is pushing the atomic cloud, which has now merged with conventional clouds, south, contaminating many villages and even threatening a large RAF base nearby._

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_The situation is likely to get worse, says an official report written by the IAEA. If the current weather persists then the fall out could threaten the cities of Glasgow and even Edinburgh. If this were the case, then both cities, with a combined population of more than four million people would have to be evacuated. The British government is handing out advice leaflets and regular information broadcasts. But that has not stopped hundreds of thousands of people fleeing the cities, blocking up roads and prevent access for the emergency and armed forces to move. Prime Minister John Major is considering declaring a national emergency, and thousands of TA reservists have been mobilised._

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_There has been mass national and international criticism of the British government's 'rash' approach. There has been a massive anti-nuclear protest march in London, attracting, according to some estimates, around two million people. There have even been calls for the Prime Minister to resign. The governments of Eire, the Netherlands and Norway have expressed official concern of nuclear pollution of the North and Irish seas. The British ambassador to the UN has been called before the IAEA in New York, and the American government has accused Britain of 'laxing the concept of nuclear warfare'. The US is worried that Britain's attitude to its nuclear weapons will turn thinking from using nuclear weapons as a last resort to a common weapon of war, particularly in the Indian sub-continent, where both India and Pakistan, both nuclear powers, are very close to conflict. Nuclear weapons in a war in this region would wipe out as many people as in the entire Second World War._

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_Surprisingly, the British government is maintaining that its choice to deploy its weapons of mass destruction was correct and unavoidable. The only information currently available to the press is that the bombed area was a base of a terrorist group responsible for such crimes as the Whitehall bombing, which left over twenty people dead and another fifty people injured. Some reports are also suggesting that this was a mistake, however, and many feel as though the British government has acted irresponsibly and has needlessly put lives and livelihoods at stake._

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_And just in, two news items that are related. First of all, an unconfirmed report that several civilians have come down with radiation sickness. Several people were admitted to Dundee Royal Infirmary overnight suffering from 'stomach pains, digestive problems and other symptoms which could be traced to radiation sickness'. Second, it appears that a US navy ship observing the after affects of the nuclear strike has disappeared off the Northeast coast of Scotland. More news as it arrives. _

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_And lastly, all the staff and presenters here would like to say to all those that are affected in this crisis that that we are thinking and feeling for you, and hope that you'll be able to return to your homes and businesses as soon as possible. Good morning._

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A/N Well, I'm trying to tell the story of the effect of the bomb on both the muggle and the magical community. Below is a glossary of terms you may not be familiar with, and their American equivalents.

Lynx- an attack and light transport helicopter, built by Westland and in service with both the army and navy.

HMS Vanguard- the latest British Nuclear submarine, launched in 1994. It carries 16 Trident 2 ICBM's along with 100 125kt warheads. Is part of the Vanguard class (more commonly known as the Trident class in Britain) and is one of four boats in the group.

MOD- Ministry of Defence, the government body in charge of the military. Equivalent to the US Department of Defence

The TA- Territorial Army, a reservist army of volunteers who fight or help out in a National emergency. Equivalent to the National Guard in America.

I aim to educate. Read and Review please.

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	6. Remains

Chapter 6: Remains  
  
Five hundred feet below the surface of the North Sea, a team of US Navy divers were scouring the bottom for any remains of the 'Powell'. They had searched threes sites already, and these had proved to be negative. This was the last site they had to check, but they only had half an hour to look as a storm was arriving soon.   
  
One of the divers, nicknamed 'Fish' because of his diving skills, manoeuvred himself around a rocky outcrop, his torches providing him with little visibility in these cold, dark waters. He wished he was at home in Florida, or cruising around the Caribbean, diving in the warm clear seas, searching for shipwrecks or just enjoying the myriad of life that inhabited the region.  
  
A tiny scrap, and Fish's heart stopped. He ran his hand over the suit, checking that the cover material of his pressure suit, and that the pressure in his suit was stable. At this depth, and if his suit failed, he would be crushed like a twig under a station wagon's tyre. He breathed a sigh of relief as he discovered that he had only scratched a small spade on his utility belt.  
  
Remembering his mission, he continued round the rock, and stopped in disbelief. The 'Powell' hung in the water; its nose smashed against the bottom, and half the ship leaned at about forty-five degrees from the bottom. Then halfway up the ship, a massive hole that had obviously been the result of an explosion and had nearly blown the ship in two. The rest of the hull went up steeper than the front, and was held precariously on an underwater ledge.  
  
Fish took a closer look at the hole. An idea of a terrible accident began to occur to him. The explosion had taken place directly under the cruise missile tubes, and the incident had seemed to describe a terrible accident that had cost the lives of over a hundred US navy personnel. He had to be sure, however. He signalled to the others and the support ship that he had found the wreck and was going in to investigate.  
  
He moved up towards the hole, and swam inside. He was in the remains of the magazine room, and only a few bits of casing were left of more than forty missiles. He walked around the room, examining the blast hole. He trod on something soft. He looked down to see he had stepped on a dismembered arm, bearing a "USS Powell" tattoo. He immediately jumped back, causing anxious questions from the rest of the team who were watching him.  
  
After fighting down his breakfast, Fish continued looking around. Something on the floor caught his eye. It was a missile casing, pointing exactly opposite the hole and embedded in the hull. That wasn't what attracted Fish's eye, however. This casing was a different colour, a slightly lighter grey than the other warhead casings. He picked it up, and nearly dropped it in surprise. The only marking upon the case was a flag, a red cross on a white background, with a Union Jack in one corner. The Royal Navy. This was a British missile.   
  
'Okay' he thought, 'it could just be one loaded on the ship after restocking from a British supply ship.' Both navies used similar weapons, and regularly topped up off each other's supplies, particularly after joint operations. 'Well, there's only one way to be sure.' He radioed the support ship, and asked whether or not the 'Powell' had been carrying British missiles. He waited a minute, and then the answer came.  
  
It hadn't.  
  
  
  
  
It took several hours for the Hogwarts students to break through to the surface. The roof of the corridor outside had collapsed at one end, providing the students with a crude ramp to the upper levels. There were no upper levels however, and when they reached the ground floor, they were walking in the winter sun. As soon as Hermione, Parvati and Ron had bought Lavender up and everyone was out of the dungeon, they all took the opportunity to look around.  
  
Most broke down in tears and gasps immediately. Others were too overwhelmed to do anything except stand and stare. Hogwarts had been destroyed, totally and without exception, and now was nothing more than stone pieces. The bomb had taken each story of the building, and had lifted blocks, some as big as cars and pushed them over half a mile away to the opposite side of the castle. Everything was black, black and dead. The forbidden forest was now flat, and only a few far off trees were standing, and even these were charred and leafless.   
  
Hogsmeade, the school gates and Hagrid's cottage had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Then they stared at the crater. The bomb had landed on the opposite side of the lake, and a crater a thousand feet across and nearly three hundred feet deep had formed, encompassing most of the lake. The massive temperatures generated by the blast had evaporated all the water, leaving the bottom visible and heavily burnt. The sand on the bottom, however, had suddenly become sparkling, almost like crystal or glass. Everything, everywhere, for about ten miles around the crater had been blackened and burnt by the blast. The quidditch stadium, where Harry had so many memories, had been blown away completely, leaving only six short, blackened, metal stumps where the goal posts had stood.  
  
And a new realisation had set in. Everyone else was dead. They had all hoped that maybe at least some of the school had survived, but many now realised that they had lost everything. Ron took it particularly hard. He had lost his two brothers and his little sister, and he collapsed into a heap, and no amount of comforting could reach him. Many others had lost relatives, such as Parvati's twin sister, who had had herbology. The greenhouses had been destroyed, leaving only their concrete floor.  
  
Hermione, Draco and Harry began searching for survivors. All knew that there was no chance at all of anyone surviving, but they had to be sure. They where returning to the others when Hermione fell down a hidden hole in the loose stonework beneath their feet. Draco and Harry rushed to help Hermione. Draco had given up insulting Hermione, realising that she knew more about this than anyone else, and was probably the group's, and therefore his, best chance of survival.  
  
They pulled Hermione up (she had managed to grab a edge before falling in completely). Harry was more interested in the gap, and pulled out his wand, murmured lumos, and searched the bottom of the hole. He saw something move, and climbed down with Hermione to take a look.  
  
They found a body, barely alive, and trapped under a large stone buttress that had fallen down on top of her. Her bright red hair instantly revealed her to be Ginny, barely conscious, and looking surprised and relieved at their arrival.   
  
"Ginny, are you ok, what happened to you?" Asked Hermione; whilst Harry tried to levitate the stone work off of Ginny.  
  
"I'm...okay. I was running down this corridor, when, when that thing struck. I was knocked unconscious by something, then I woke up, I was down here, and I've been waiting for rescue since." She glanced at Harry, who had just managed to shift the stonework. He put his hand underneath Ginny, to try and lift her up, and felt something damp.  
  
"Ginny, are you injured?" asked Harry, thinking he had felt blood.  
  
"No," she replied, " I, well, I, lets just say I have been here for nearly a day now, and I haven't been able to move."  
  
Ten minutes later, they had her to the surface, to be greeted by an ecstatic Ron, and the two embraced so much it looked like they were going to crush each other. It was a single relief, in the midst of many great disasters, but it couldn't do anything but help raise moral slightly.   
  
But they found no more survivors, and as the morning sky rose higher into the cloudy sky, they all accepted that Ginny was the only other survivor. Several people complaining of feeling of tiredness and stomach problems did not help the matter. None of them had eaten since the previous morning. In general, the outlook wasn't good, and it was about to get a lot worse.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N Well, R/R plez. The sand turning glittering is a story from the Tests in the Nevada desert. As the temperature rises, all the various compounds that make up each individual sand grain melt and mix with other sand grains. As this mixture cools, it solidifies and a primitive glass is produced in little 'blobs', over the surface of the sand.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. The Fog

Chapter 7: The Fog

Chapter 7: The Fog 

Two Royal Air Force Tornados were patrolling the no-fly zone around central Scotland. A huge bank of fog had suddenly risen, heavily denting the visibility for the two aircraft, and forcing the two aircrews to switch to instrument flying. Both planes were nearing the end of their shift, and the four crewmembers were looking forward to returning to base. They were now flying to the rendezvous point, where two Jaguars were going to replace them.

Suddenly, the lead aircraft picked up a contact on his radar display. The captain, a Lieutenant Arthur Theobald radioed the unknown aircraft, assuming it was just another light aircraft seeing if it could see the bomb crater. He selected the 'all frequencies' button on his comm. panel, and pulled down the mounted microphone in his helmet. 

"This is Tornado RF-BUJJ, please state your aircraft designation and intended course, over." No response. "Unidentified aircraft, this is Tornado RF-BUJJ, please be advised that you are entering restricted airspace, please vacate this area as soon as possible, over." No response. "Unidentified aircraft, this is the Royal Air Force Tornado RF-BUJJ, please turn around and leave immediately, be advised that we have the authority to shoot you down, over." The radio remained silent.

'Damn' he thought, 'is this guy an idiot?' He switched his intercom to the second aircraft. "Hey Mike, over."

"Yeah, here sir, over," replied the other aircraft.

"See if you can get this guy, I might have a problem with my radio, over."

"Will do, sir, over." The second aircraft repeated the warning message, again to no reply.

"Damn, what's this guy doing? Doesn't he realise we are going to shoot him down?"

"Erm sir?" Said the navigator sitting behind Theobald.

"Yes, Thomas?"

"Sir, I've done an identity trace on this aircraft."

"And?"

"Well, sir, the computer can't identify the aircraft. This thing is well over ten metres long, but is only travelling about fifty miles an hour. I would say it's a helicopter, but there are no private helicopters of that size in this country."

"Erm, sir, over?" The other aircraft interrupted.

"Yes, over." 

"Phil thinks we better take a holding pattern around the target, other wise we'll take over it in a few seconds. Over."

"Agreed." Theobald turn the control lever to the left for a moment, before dragging over so the aircraft was slowly turning right, making the two planes fly in an anti-clockwise direction around their target.

"So, what the hell is this thing? Over"

"Could be an extraterrestrial spacecraft sir, over"

"Ha ha Mike, seriously, over"

"Sir, it could be an experimental aircraft, sir, they could be using the area as a test site as no one is allowed to watch." Replied Thomas. 

"Why aren't they responding though?"

"Could be a foreign plane sir, possibly spying, over"

"Hmm, anyway, we have to stop them. Mike, repeat the last warning message…" He didn't have time to finish his sentence. A massive black shape appeared out the fog in front of them. It flew straight at the two planes. A terrible, grinding noise pierced the thick fog, and Theobald's plane went crashing into the ground below.

Mike's plane flew as fast as it could, calling over the radio for assistance. Then it turned around, and headed for the plane's attacker, which had now disappeared into the fog. It locked on with a Sky Flash, and within a second the missile had left the belly of the aircraft. It sped into the fog, and a few seconds later a dull thud and flash of light indicated that the missile had hit its target.

The Tornado continued flying. Then, a large black shadow fell over the plane, and within a blink of an eye, it was sent flying out of control to join its companion on the mountainous countryside below. Ten minutes later, two Jaguars arrived to search for the Tornados and their attacker, and all they found was two large craters and a body lying next to an unopened parachute.

Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting down on the remains of what had once been Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were all exhausted by the events of the past twenty-four hours, and there seemed to be something else that was sapping the energy of the few survivors. Lavender had gotten worse, and was now barely conscious. She didn't respond to any attempt to communicate with her, and her breathing was barely audible. Neville had now sunk into an agoraphobic depression, and would scream madly at any one who attempted to get too close.

Then they heard something. It started off as a light groaning noise, and Ron dismissed it as distant thunder. But it grew, steadily, but surely, and soon everyone had noticed it. Some grew anxious and began to walk around, and even Neville seemed to awake from his depressive state.

Then they saw several muggle helicopters appearing from around the mountaintops. The group turned to Harry, waiting for him to give them instructions. Harry looked around, they had to get out of there, but the blast had left them little cover. The only possible cover was the fallen trees in what remained of the forbidden forest. But, with their injured, they could not reach there in time. 

"We fight," cried Harry, "get the wounded undercover, and everyone else try and get behind a rock or something."

The group followed his instruction to the letter. Meanwhile several of the helicopters had landed and released troops, wearing heavy anti-radiation suits and a couple of armed jeeps. The rest of the helicopters circled around the survivors, making escape impossible and filling every one of the students with a new fear; they had not survived to merely die in a hopeless battle against much stronger muggle forces.

The muggle soldiers now secured the perimeter around the remains of the castle, and many had already got into a combat posture with a large number of heavy weapons targeted and ready to be used. The students' position was hopeless. Even the few of them who had wands did not know enough magic to seriously stop any assault. 

Two soldiers walked up to a small ledge created by a fallen wall. The one leading held a megaphone, whilst the other held a walkie-talkie. They positioned themselves on the ledge and began to talk to the students.

"My name is Corporal Mathew Carrick, and I'm here to ask for your surrender, as you can see, you are hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. It is not my wish for there to be any more bloodshed. If you surrender in the next five minutes, then you will not be harmed. Please reveal yourself slowly and place your hands upon your head. If you do not surrender, then we will storm your positions and will not be responsible for our actions. The choice is yours. You have five minutes."

Harry looked at the soldiers, then his fellow students, and then at the other soldiers. He spent a moment deciding what to do. He had the fate of other people's lives on his hands, and he had to make that decision, because it would be final, and there would be no going back. 

Five minutes passed. Then the soldier spoke again.

"What is your decision?" Harry looked around, closed his eyes.

"We…we surrender." He turned around and stood up. "We have wounded, they need medical attention as soon as possible." 

"Very well, they will be looked after. Now, come out with your hands on your head, and no sudden movements."

"Oh well, I'll go first," said Harry to Ron and Draco. "Make sure Neville doesn't do anything stupid, and its been nice..." he looked at Draco, "well, its been an experience, good luck." He hugged and kissed Hermione on her forehead, and shook Ron and Draco by the hand. Then he stood up again, put his hands on his head, and walked slowly down to the soldiers, a dozen guns pointing at his head. At least they weren't dead, he thought, as he was handcuffed and lead into a waiting helicopter, and that provided him with a little comfort. 

A/N Thank you all for R/R. Please continue.

Here's another glossary;

Sky Flash: A medium range, radar guided air-to-air missile, similar in size, role and performance to the American sparrow, and like the American missile, will be replaced over the next few years by the AMRAAM.

Tornado: Multi-role Two-seater aircraft, produced by Panavia (an International project paid by and for the air forces of Great Britain, Germany and Italy). It first came into service in 1982 (Ground Attack versions) and newer varieties include Air Superiority Fighter, Tactical Reconnaissance, and Electronic Warfare versions.

Jaguar: A single seat Ground Attack aircraft, produced by SEPECAT (a joint British/French project), and came into service in 1976.

Don't say FF.Net doesn't teach you anything.

Oh, one more thing. Popular to contrary opinion, Britain has not lost total control over its nuclear weapons.


	8. Questions

Chapter 8: Questions

Chapter 8: Questions 

The Prime Minister relaxed in his chair at his desk in the command bunker. The place had been built nearly thirty years ago, at the height of the cold war, and was a very good example of the worst possible scenario ideology that went behind government thinking at the time. The place had originally been a deep coal mine until the seams ran dry in the mid sixties. The MOD had immediately taken it over. The deep shafts provided a ready made fallout shelter and sufficient depth to shield from even the greatest Russian warheads, and although the cold war had finished nearly ten years previously, the MOD kept the place up and running as an emergency control centre.

Since the day before the nuclear strike, the PM had been operating from this bunker. It protected him from the outside world, from all the criticism and the protests, the complaints and the jeers. He had realised that his time in office would be remembered for what he had done over the past few days, and it was now up to him to try and prove it was the right thing to do. He had begun to think about his decision, despite all the assurances of his advisors. His dreams were punctuated by horrible visions of fires, death, despair and anger. How many people had died there, he did not now. He had received news that they had found twelve teenage survivors. He now wondered why there had been teenagers there, 'do wizards train their youngsters in dark magic'. He hoped so, because he didn't want to be remembered as a murderer, a tyrant, an irresponsible upper class toff who had no idea how it affected ordinary people. 

The press weren't helping. The military was trying to keep a lid on certain things, but somehow these things were leaked to the newspapers and T.V networks. The cloud of radiation had now drifted within thirty miles of Stirling, and a major evacuation of over two hundred thousand people was taking place. Panic had set in, and looting and rioting were breaking out in every town in southern Scotland. But now, he had another appointment, the leader of the wizards, their Prime Minister, or, what did they call him, the Minster for Magic. He had met him once, two years ago, about some escaped criminal. He couldn't remember much about him. Seemed a bit pompous, he thought. 

Then the door burst open, and there stood the Minister for Magic. He looked as tired as the Prime Minister, but seemed to be in some sort of distress or anger. He walked right up to the Prime Minister, ignored his extended hand and any other gesture of courtesy. He just glared at the Prime Minister, a look of extreme anger radiating from every nook and crevice.

"Please tell me it wasn't you." He said, in a surprisingly calm voice.

"It wasn't us what?" replied the Prime Minister, slightly surprised at his opposite number's reaction.

"The explosion, Hogsmeade, the school, the giant cloud, was it you?" His tone became steadily angrier.

"If you are referring to the nuclear explosion yesterday then yes, it was us who deployed the device." 

"But how, I mean, your muggles, how could you." His voice shifted to an unbelievable tone.

"A nuclear bomb, despite its relatively small size, can produce an explosion of many thousands of tons."

"Then, it was you, you…murderers." His eyes narrowed, and his face went pale. "You killed them all."

"The device was used against a terrorist camp, we had…" 

"It wasn't a terrorist camp, it is, it was, a school and a wizarding town. Twenty thousand people are dead, do you hear me, dead!!"

"Pardon, are you sure you're not mistaken?" Asked an increasingly worried Prime Minister.

"A third of Britain's magical community have been blasted off the face of the earth, DO YOU THINK I'M MISTAKEN!?!" He was now shouting at the Prime Minister, despite his close proximity.

"But our intelligence…"

"I COULDN'T GIVE A F##K WHAT YOUR INTELLIGENCE SAID. A WHOLE TOWN, A SCHOOL FOR HELL'S SAKE. CHILDREN, YOU STUPID MUGGLE, CHILDREN, INNOCENT WOMEN AND CHILDREN, BURNT TO DEATH, AND VAPOURISED. THE WHOLE WIZARDING COMMUNITY IS IN TOTAL DEVASTATION. WHY, MAN, WHY?"

"If you would just let me finish, according to our reports, there was a large area of magical activity, and we presumed it to be this terrorist group of wizards, and since we didn't have any information to the contrary, then we decided to act."

"AND YOU THINK THAT EXCUSES YOU?"

"Well, you have informed us of these wizards and where they were operating from. If you had told us everything from the beginning, then we would have not have used this terrible weapon."Fudge stared at the Prime Minister as though he had just called his mother a dirty slut. 

"Listen to me, muggle, you have just killed our best people who could fight this. In fact, you have just probably sent many people over to their side. They are not going to be satisfied that their sons and daughters had died because of your mistake." With that, he turned and walked out. The Prime Minister went over to the drinks cabinet he kept for times like this. He poured himself a double Whiskey, and drank it down in a couple of gulps. He returned to his desk and sat down.

'Oh god', he thought, 'please god, we didn't make a mistake?' But he knew the answer, and he put his head in his hands and began crying, crying for all those who had died, crying for all that blood shed, crying for the destruction of innocents and children. He had done the worst crime imaginable, and had killed more people at once than anytime since the last nuclear bomb. The Minister for Magic had been right. He was a murderer, a destroyer, a criminal, every evil and despicable thing on this planet, and there was nothing he could do to put it right.

Brian Dunford, Defence Minister and chief military advisor to the Prime Minister, and General Morgan, the Commander in Chief of the United States Armed Forces in Europe, sat down in the Ministers office in the Houses of Parliament in London. For several minutes, they exchanged an increasingly frustrating argument about the detonation of the a-bomb. The American General had not mentioned the 'Powell', he was waiting for a full report to come through, but the discovery of the remains of the British missile did not help his mood, particularly as the Minister seemingly unapproachable attitude towards the device deployment. 

Eventually the discussion ended, with no obvious results, apart from ruining both of their days. When the American had left, Dunford shut and locked the door. He took out a cigarette. He didn't usually smoke, only in times of stress. Now was one of those moments. He was about to light it when a figure suddenly appeared behind him. He turned around to face the intruder.

"Oh, its you Lucius." He said, recognising the death-eater, despite the mask. Besides, it was always Lucius; he had ways of doing things that even Dunford admired in a morbid kind of fashion.

"Well, I see you are making things difficult for the Americans. Good, my lord will be pleased."

"I still don't see why you had to kill all those Americans though. I hate to see that many people die."

"You know, for someone responsible for thousands of deaths, a greater number even than our lord himself, I'm genuinely surprised." He muttered sarcastically, taking a glass of Brandy from a bottle on the desk.

"Don't say I'm responsible for the bombing of that town," Dunford snarled at the wizard.

"Well, lets face it, you are the Prime Minister's chief advisor, and he'd do whatever you'd say was best. And you told him to use that, err, what's it called?"

"A Nuclear bomb."

"Yes, the master was impressed, and so was I, I never knew muggles could be so…_destructive._" Dunford didn't answer. "Yes, anyway, our master wants to antagonise the Americans a bit more. We already done our share of dirty work, its time you did something that would really piss the US off."

"I'll see, it'll be difficult to figure out…"

"Remember, Dunford, what would happen if you didn't comply." Lucius raised his wand, and a picture appeared, of a brown haired middle aged woman and a young boy, around seven, and had his mother's hair. Dunford turned to Lucius.

"Don't you dare even lay a finger on them."

"We won't," Lucius, muttered _deletrus,_ and the image disappeared. "Provided you follow our orders. I'll return in a few days, just to check up on you." He disapparated, leaving the Minister on his own, with an unlighted cigarette in his mouth and a dirty glass on the desk.

A/N The title, if you wondered, comes from a poem I had to do in English a few years back. We had to do a poem on a random subject, and I had to do a thing on nuclear bombs. I found this book about the nuclear bomb tests in Australia (These were British tests, when Australia agreed to lease the British testing sites, providing the size did not exceed something like 60 kt, although the British did actually test a 100kt device in Australia and kept the true yield a secret until 1984. For more information on nukes (if you really want to know) try [http://www.fas.org/nuke/hew/][1]). This is what actually sparked my interest in these weapons, (don't worry, I hate them beyond anything else, but their immense power, and their place in history, tells a lot about the human psyche.) My poem went:

_The cloud rises higher than the tallest mountains,_

_They make the earth tremble in their wake,_

_A Device capable of destroying everything and yet,_

_They keep their homelands safe and protected._

_ _

_A shadow of destruction,_

_More powerful than any disease, _

_Or earthquake,_

_Or anything that nature can throw at man, and yet._

_ _

_It all comes from the smallest particles in the universe, an atom,_

_And yet it can destroy entire countries,_

_The simplest thing in nature,_

_But also the most powerful force in the Universe._

_ _

_They burn hundreds of times hotter than a star,_

_And produced a light greater than the sun itself._

_Capable of producing winds hundreds of miles faster than a hurricane,_

_And can turn the brightest day into night, and the darkest night into day._

_ _

_Capable of erasing thousands of people in the blink of an eye,_

_Of obliterating age-old cities off the face of the Earth._

_Of destroying Empires and continents,_

_And poisoning the land until the end of time._

_ _

_And known simply,_

_A name that raises fear in any man,_

_Of any nation, of any race,_

_As 'The bomb'._

Well, I got a B- "_good description and well expressed feelings, but lacking in any recognisable structure."_

_ _

Oh well. __

   [1]: http://www.fas.org/nuke/hew/



	9. Unknowns

Chapter 9: Interrogation 

Chapter 9: Unknowns 

Carrick surveyed the area, his eyes darting from blackened feature to blackened feature. He had seen many scenes of destruction. In the Balkans he had found a burnt out village, charred and mutilated remains littering the entire area. But it had not affected him like this. No amount of training or experience could prepare you for viewing the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. He had been given many hours of NBC training, including watching hundreds of nuclear detonations, but not even those actually could be compared to the devastation that he saw here.

The closest thing he could compare it to was the Hiroshima blast. That had killed nearly one hundred thousand, but the bomb itself had only a fraction of the power of this weapon. He wondered how many people had died here. True, they had found a dozen or so survivors earlier on, but out of how many? Hundreds? Thousands? He didn't know, and he honestly didn't care. It wasn't that he was a sadist, or depressive, as people often thought, but it was through ten years of fighting, maiming and killing that had hardened his attitude to those who were not in his day-to-day life. There was none of this 'honour and glory' crap the PR division feed to the media and the masses. They, on the face of it, were trained killers. The only difference was that they were paid to kill, by the public who felt it their moral duty to 'protect the innocent and preserve freedom and democracy', by killing people who were just like them, who fought for the same reasons.

He did not think beyond the immediate 'kill-or-be-killed' mentality, as a soldier, he couldn't do anything else. These people probably deserved to die. He, deep down, hoped so, but he knew like everyone else there that they were probably fighting for something like they were. He remembered his time in Northern Ireland. The IRA, the UDF, and every other one of those terrorists planted those bombs because they believed that killing people was the only way to get things done, to fight for what they believed in, and that if innocent people had to die, then so be it. He hated violence beyond anything, but, ironically, it was this that gave him the motive to kill others, all in the name of peace. You can't have peace without war, and you can't have freedom without laws and restrictions. It was the greatest paradox of all, an undeniable truth that meant that he was almost continuously risking his and his unit's lives in some god forsaken country, fighting for values that seemed ludicrous in the situation, but kept the public at home happy, and his pay rolling in.

And yet. There was something here that moved such hardened veterans like him. It was the sense of powerlessness that filled a man when he saw what fellow men was capable of doing when he finally decides to find an ultimate way of ending the lives of others. He looked at the crater. It would have fitted several towns quite easily. He had received the exact measurements. Eight hundred and thirty four feet across, with a maximum depth of two hundred and twenty five feet. He watched as three Chinooks, the largest helicopters in the western world hovered above it like flies above a dead carcass. He looked around, taking another look at the landscape. Everything either looked as if it had been hit with a giant hammer, or torched with a hundred flame-throwers. Of course, with a blast of that magnitude, that was going to be expected. Nothing survives a nuclear blast. That is the whole reason behind these weapons. They are not warning shots. They are not specific, they are, as the government calls them, weapons of mass destruction, and they certainly earned their feared reputation.

A slight crunch broke his concentration. He looked at the thick-soled boot of his NBC suit. It looked like a burnt twig. But it wasn't. It was bone. Black, charcoaled bone. He wiped the ashes off his boot, and continued looking around. He kicked another stone out the way, and then walked another ten feet, and then something caught his eye. It was a burnt door. The fact that it was in a recognisable state was surprise enough, but not only the door, but its frame as well, was intact. He called some men over and began digging. It took nearly three hours, and involved them getting a helicopter to lift several large stones out of the way. 

Then it dawned on them, it was a whole room, like a circular chocolate box, the stones holding it together standing firm, if slightly chipped and fried. The room actually was embedded at an angle into the ground, and despite being thrown nearly four hundred yards through the air, was still intact. Carrick looked around, and looked at the door again. He called another soldier down and the two of them looked at the door. It should have been blasted to smithereens, or at least burnt down in the ensuing fire. But it had remained intact. Carrick brushed the surface with his glove. To his amazement, once he had brushed a fine coating of ash away, he found a perfectly painted and varnished door, with only a few minor scratches here and there.

"Do an Infrared on this…thing." He ordered. A pause, then a soldier standing to their left shook his head.

"Sir, the IR cameras can't penetrate it"

"What?" Asked a puzzled Carrick. He knew the strike had been against wizards, but he never guessed that they could make something that would survive a nuclear blast, particularly with the rest of the building lying in ruins around it. 

"Get me command" yelled Carrick, looking at a radio officer, who seemed just as bewildered as Carrick. Then a new thought entered Carrick's head. 'What if this is a wizard's version of a shelter? What if there are survivors inside?' He didn't know. He simply radioed the command centre in the Peak district, and leave it with them.

Mr and Mrs Granger had not been to sleep for nearly thirty-six hours. They had replaced the telephone, but it had not rung. The two sat together in the living room, the telly still on, and twenty or so empty mugs of coffee on the table in front of them. They watched another news program as it came up.

"_The MOD has revealed that two Tornado fighter aircraft have disappeared just outside of the nuclear no-go zone. The RAF has revealed that both aircraft were flying routine patrols when both suddenly disappeared in a thick bank of fog in the region. Another pair of aircraft found their wreckage a few minutes later when investigating the Tornado's disappearance. _

_ _

_The MOD has confirmed that three of the aircrew are dead, whilst a fourth is being treated for severe injuries at a Northern England airbase. The whole region is becoming an unlucky place for aircraft, as another privately owned aircraft has also disappeared, this time in the north of the region. _

_ _

_In an unrelated incident, a US navy spokesperson has confirmed that the US Powell, a DDG51 class destroyer, has sunk off the Scottish coast. Although no official statement actually says why the 'Powell' was lost, some news leaked by the Pentagon indicates an accident with the ships main weapons, Tomahawk cruise missiles, causing an explosion that ripped the ship in the two. British Coastguard, Royal Navy and US Navy units in the area are conducting the search for crewmembers, although some reports state that there was a good possibility that there are few, if any, survivors, and everyone in both countries are praying that this is not the case._

_ _

_And finally, British troops, wearing heavy protection gear have in the last few hours have actually entered the blast area. Although officially, no survivors have been found, T.V networks received several radio messages, indicating some survivors had been picked up. _The couple suddenly began staring at the telly. _Although many scientists ar saying the probability of somebody being alive are remote, and anyone who did survive would have died anyway from acute radiation poisoning._

_ _

_More news as it comes in. Thank you and good evening."_

_ _

__The report finished, and the Grangers looked at each other through tired red eyes.

"Do you think she, oh George," whispered Mrs Granger, gazing straight into her husband's eyes. Before he could answer however. A low grumbling noise came from outside the house. It grew steadily, before stopping as the vehicle parked in front of the house. A door opening, followed by a knock on the their front door, spurred the Grangers into motion. They walked slowly up to the front door. They opened the door to reveal a man in a military police uniform, standing in front of two regular soldiers and a military-styled Landrover. 

"Mr and Mrs Granger" asked the man, starring in between the couple he was addressing.

"Yes," answered the pair, Mr Granger firmly, Mrs Granger almost whispering timidly.

"Please come with me, you are required to come up to RAF Staxton. If you would please come with us."

"Is this about Hermione?" Asked Mr Granger, placing an arm around his wife's shoulder.

"I have not been told anything apart from to collect you."

"Now, wait a minute, I want to know what this is about?"

"I'm sorry sir, but it is required for you to come with us." The grangers looked at each other, shut their eyes momentarily, and then followed the soldier down the path and into the Landrover, which started again almost instantly, and drove off, down the little cul-de-sac, onto the main road for a minute, before joining the M1 and heading north into the unkown.

_ _

_ _

__


	10. Attacks

Chapter 10: Attacks

Chapter 10: Attacks 

Carrick surveyed the 'chocolate box', as the intact room had been nicknamed by the rest of the soldiers. It had now been fully excavated, and had been loaded onto a travelling crate, thick chains attaching the rough stonework to the metal base. It was getting late now, and the sun was quickly disappearing over the blackened horizon. 

Feeling rather tired, Carrick glanced at his watch, he had been here nearly ten hours, and at the current radiation levels, he only had another hour or so of his present exposure before he began receiving permanent damage from the residual radiation. He turned his head to watch the crate being loaded on the back of a huge Antonov 124 Condor that had been hired by the army to fly equipment in and certain 'items' out. The room, despite its comparatively large size, fitted easily into the Condor's gargantuan cargo hold.

Carrick watched the Condor take off, its massive bulk struggling to lift off the ground. It just about cleared the mountains around the bombsite, turned south, and lumbered off into the distance. He then turned, glanced over the crater and over the surrounding landscape, checking everything was in order. He then walked over to a convoy that was preparing to move out. He exchanged a quick word with the supervising officer, and went to get in a Warrior APC. As he got into the commander's seat, he looked at the rest of the convoy. It struck him how well protected it was. There was a couple of huge Challenger 2 Tanks, a few armoured Scimitars and a similar number of Warriors, and a small number of armoured Landrovers. Obviously his superiors were not taking any risks. He slid onto the seat, and activated the command console. A green and black map appeared of the local vicinity, and a couple of T.V monitors showed what was happening on the outside of the vehicle. 

Ten minutes later, the convoy slipped out of the blast area and down a road-come-mud track that the engineers had built, connecting the site to the nearest roads, allowing ground vehicles to travel to and from the bombsite. Carrick was feeling tired after a hard and exhausting ten hours, and he dropped off to sleep, thoughts about getting back to base and a nice shower providing materials for his dreams. 

Five minutes later, a massive bang shook Carrick awake. Sounds of gunfire, shouting, and explosions filled his ears as he regained consciousness. He scanned the monitors in front of his eyes. Smoke obscured most of the scene, though he could make out flames, running men, bullet tracers and the occasional flash of what looked like green and red flares. The Warrior had stopped moving and he could hear activity in the crew compartment behind him. He got off his seat and pulled himself down into the crew compartment. The doors at the rear had been opened, and Carrick could make out a body in army uniform lying dead outside, a SA-80 cradled by one outstretched arm. Two more soldiers were inside the Warrior, firing large machine guns through the gun holes in the vehicle's sides.

"What do you want us to do, sir?" Asked one of the men, firing another burst from his weapon, leaving a dozen empty shell cartridges on the floor. Carrick remembered he was the most senior officer present, and was therefore automatically in command. He mind ran through the many options he could take, weighing the pros and cons.

"Has anyone called for backup? Where are the rest of the soldiers?" Shouted Carrick, trying to make himself heard, as one of the Challengers fired off its massive cannon, which shook the Warrior and nearly sent Carrick flying forward.

"Most of the other guys jumped out when the convoy was first stopped sir, a couple of them were hit by a weapon that seems to have a green tracer or something, sir. I not sure if anyone's made contact sir, most of us have been too preoccupied." He said the last word as he let off another burst.

"Okay, do you know how many people we're being attacked by?" Asked Carrick, who was now checking the magazine clip in his 9mm pistol. The soldier he was addressing loaded another belt into his machine gun. 

"Can't tell, sir, we were driving along this narrow road and they attacked us from the trees above, they destroyed the lead Landrover, blocking us in, but I don't think their weapons can penetrate our armour." He turned to look at a Carrick for a second, and then there a huge blast, and soldier was flung to the opposite side of the compartment. Carrick rushed to the downed man, but a couple of fingers to his neck confirmed that he was dead. Carrick looked into the downed man's eyes, deep blue, like his own. He closed the dead man's eyelids, and rushed back to his console. 

"This is convoy 49 Alpha, we need assistance, we are under heavy fire, and we have heavy casualties, over." A distorted male voice crackled over the radio.

"Confirmed, we have your position on the GPS, reinforcements have been mobilised, ETA 5 minutes." 'Damn it,' thought Carrick, 'we could all be dead by then'. Another heavy blast on the Warrior's side knocked out the power unit, leaving him in total darkness. He felt in his pocket for a torch that he always carried. He found it and switched it on, and then dropped back into the crew's compartment. The other soldier had fled, leaving his machine gun lying amongst used cartridges on the floor. Carrick pulled out a box from underneath the bench at the side of the cabin. He opened it and pulled out a LAW rocket launcher. He grabbed some duct tape and tied his torch to the top of his pistol. With his rocket launcher under his left arm, and his pistol in his right hand, jumped out of the rear door. 

The moment he landed, he realised he was in trouble. Standing ten yards away, with his back to Carrick, was one of the attackers. Carrick, ignoring nearby explosions and tracers, stared at the man. He was the strangest thing Carrick had ever seen. He was dressed, from head to toe in what looked like a black bathrobe, with a long, flowing black cape, and in his left hand was a piece of wood, almost like a wand. Then Carrick realised that this was a wizard. He didn't have to dwell on this, because the wizard turned round, and raised his wand to point at Carrick. Carrick realised just in time what was going to happen. He dropped the rocket launcher, and brought the pistol up to aim. He fired first, a single shot. The wizard fell silently to the ground, blood pouring from a wound where the head should have been underneath the hood.

Carrick ran to take cover behind a second landrover that had been travelling behind his Warrior. It had veered off course and hit a tree. Carrick could see the driver was lying over the wheel, blood flowing from a head wound, behind a shattered and blooded windscreen. A second soldier was slumped over the roof-mounted machine gun; he was unmarked, but clearly dead. 

When Carrick had taken cover behind the bonnet of the Landrover, he was able to get a good view of the battle. A landrover at the head of the convoy, along with a Scimitar halfway down were in flames. Most of the tracked vehicles had lost tracks and had careered all over the road. Both Challengers were still operational, and were firing their machine guns and 120mm cannons into the trees that climbed up the hillside on the left of the road. On the right side, a fifty-foot dropped lead straight into a lake. An overturned Warrior was lying half sunken on the shoreline, buried under a small pile of rocks and dirt. A few bodies were floating around it, turning the water a dark shade of crimson. On the road itself, there were a dozen bodies from both sides. Most of the remaining soldiers were ducking behind the remaining vehicles, occasionally letting off a few rounds from their weapons, but it was the Challengers that were doing all the work. Red and green blasts were coming in from all directions, keeping most of the soldiers pinned down.

Then Carrick saw two wizards moving in on one of the Challengers. He picked up the rocket launcher, and took aim. He pulled the trigger, and watched the smoke trail of the missile as it sped towards its unsuspecting victims. One of them, about five yards behind the other, noticed the missile, and yelled. The missile hit him directly, completely vaporising him, and flinging the other wizard about twenty feet, and he landed as a crumpled and disfigured heap. Carrick smiled morbidly to himself. He felt the adrenaline serge through his veins; he knew that this was his element.

He picked up his pistol again, and began firing almost randomly into the trees. There were a few yells and screams from both sides, and Carrick was sure he saw something fall over in between the trees. Lights appeared in the sky from over the top of the hill. Carrick waved and pointed to the trees in front of him. The lights were army helicopters, and they fired rockets and machine guns into the forest below them. Within a couple of minutes, there were no more green and red tracers, and Carrick and a few brave soldiers went to investigate. They found a couple of bodies, and more traces of blood that didn't have an owner. It almost looked as if their attackers had vanished into thin air. Carrick returned to his Warrior, sat on the edge of the rear door, propped his head against the side, and fell asleep within a few moments.

A few hours later, about four o'clock in the morning, a car pulled up outside the busy offices of the Daily Record in Edinburgh. Two people got out, and rushed inside the main doors, both flashing passes at the sleepy guard, and heading straight up to the main office floor. They found the man they were looking for, the newspaper's editor, Mr Reynolds, among half full cardboard boxes and unplugged computers. 

"Mr Reynolds, sir, we have a front page story ready to go on the morning edition." Said one man, who was quite short and plump, with a mop of untidy sandy hair and a similar moustache. He shoved a few typed up sheets of paper into Mr Reynolds's hand.

"Hang on Donald," Said Mr Reynolds, pocketing the sheets of paper. "Haven't you heard, we're closin' down, army's orders us to move, says the radiation clouds movin' south towards 'ere. We're packing up, we ain't printing anythin' lad."

"What, but sir, this is really incredible, this is like, the biggest thing to ever happen to Scotland." Said the other guy; taller and thinner than his companion, and with dark brown hair and thick glasses.

"Err, laddie, have ya been on Earth the past few days, _this_ is the biggest thing to happen to Scotland, youse don't get bigger than nuclear weapons ya know." 

"Sir" Donald spoke up, "have a look at these, please." He passed a few black and white photographs to Mr Reynolds. The editor glanced at them, and then held them close to his eyes, and then he rubbed his eyes, and looked at the pictures again. His jaw dropped. 

"Wha', what are those?" He mumbled, his gaze firmly on the photographs. 

"Wizards, sir, attacking an army convoy."

"Wizards, what do ya mean, wizards?" Muttered Reynolds, tearing his eyes from the photos. "You mean…?"

"Yes sir, magic, that's why the army used the a-bomb, sir, to stop the wizards, the wizards are attacking us, they nearly destroyed an entire armoured convoy, and they are dangerous. No wonder Westminster keeping it quiet, can you imagine what people would think if they said they were fighting wizards, ha, no one would believe them. It all makes sense, that's probably why the government refused to allow planning permission for that new hotel they were gonna build there with that old castle. Sir, this is the…the story _of a lifetime_." Mr Reynolds collapsed back into his seat, a hundred thoughts and ideas running through his mind. And then…

"Right, Donald, e-mail your photos and story to all the other newspapers and T.V stations, this story has got to come out. Mike," He turned to the other man, "Get the printers ready, we're going out this morning. And get your story written, and get everyone to help you, explain everything to 'em. Check the Internet for stuff, and get me a draft ready for print." He turned, and headed for his office, a look of determination across his face. Mike and Donald stared at each other, and then grinned. Today was going to be a memorable day for the Daily Record.

A/N Sorry about the wait, but writer's block is a big annoyance. Anyway, please read and review!!


	11. Interrogation

Chapter 11: 

Chapter 11: Interrogation 

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, filtering the light as it entered her eyes. After a few seconds, she was able to open them fully, and stared around the room she was in. She realised she was sitting down, and suddenly realised that she couldn't move her arms or legs. Her memory struggled to remember the events of the past few days, and then, like a dam bursting, the images and the voices filled her head, the explosion, people yelling, crawling out of the dungeons, seeing the remains of Hogwarts, being captured by the muggles, of being taken to this place, hands, faces behind masks, and then…nothing, like some had cast a black sheet over her senses. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She tried to wipe it off, but with no mobility it simply slid down her face and then dripped on to the floor.

The room she was in reminded her of her parent's surgery. The walls were white and sterile, and the lighting was provided by a single neon strip-light in the centre of the ceiling, which cast a white-blue light over the entire room. She was sitting behind a grey, metal table, and there were two similar styled chairs on the opposite side of it. There were no windows, and a single door, painted in the same colour as the walls, and with no handle either, just a black square where the handle should have been. She looked up and saw a camera in one corner of the ceiling. She glared at it, suppressed feelings of fear and anger beginning to resurface. 

The room reminded her of one of those interrogation rooms that were in the movies she watched when she was at home. This suspicion seemed to be confirmed when the door opened, and two men quickly walked inside and sat down. One was carrying a laptop, which he set up on the table in front of him. They were both dressed in military uniform, and both were wearing rather unnecessary sunglasses. Both were thickset, and their haircuts reminded Hermione of Crabbe and Goyle, but their faces were not as cold and determined as the soldier's in front of her.

"Name?" Asked the one on the left, who had the laptop.

"What?" Replied Hermione, who was unprepared for questions.

"Name?" Answered the other soldier.

"Hermione, Hermione Granger." 

"Good, age?"

"Sixteen, my birthday is the 19th of September."

"Yes, we know. We have a copy of your birth certificate."

"Then, why do you want my age?" Asked a puzzled Hermione

"Confirmation of who you are. Right then, my name is Mr Smith," said the soldier on the right, "and this is Mr Jones." He gestured to the man next to him.

"You don't put much effort into making up names, do you?" Replied Hermione, sarcastically.

"We don't have to, most people who are in your position are usually too frightened to worry about our names."

"And why should I be frightened, this is Britain, after all." Muttered Hermione. Mr Jones pressed a key on the laptop. Hermione yelled as she felt an electric shock pass through her body. She tried to move, but couldn't, and she crunched up her face in agony as the current increased. Then it stopped, and Hermione started breathing with ragged breaths, her eyes wide in shock, her hands in fists, and she was muttering things like 'bastard' under her breath. She stared in disbelief at the two soldiers; they were as unemotional as ever.

"Right, I hope you will be more cooperative now." Said Mr Smith. Hermione nodded weakly. "Let me explain something about your situation. You are currently being held at RAF Staxton, a military base in northern England, near Whitby, if you want to be precise. You will find that your limbs do not have any mobility, that is because before awakening you, we placed local anaesthetics in each limb, and we also took the liberty of attaching electrodes in various places all over your body. Believe me, if you chose not to cooperate, you will find this experience to be very uncomfortable. Do I make myself very clear?" 

"Yes," whispered Hermione, her voice trembling.

"Good, now, where were we, oh yes, what was the facility which the bomb destroyed?"

"It was a school."

"Really? You see, it wasn't on the D.F.E.E's computer list, are you sure?"

"It wasn't an ordinary school, it was a magic school."

"Oh, you mean magic like Paul Daniels, or David Copperfield?"

"No, proper magic, witchcraft." Hermione struggled with each word. "Not that stupid muggle stuff."

"Muggle, what do you mean, muggle?" 

"Muggle, as in non-magical, like you, your muggles, the soldiers that captured us were muggles."

"Ah," said Mr Jones, "That will explain what the other boy was going on about."

"What other boy? " Asked Hermione, looking up. 

"Pale boy, blond hair, Draco Malfoy, I think his name was, kept saying he was going to kill all the muggles, along with his dad, his dad was going to kill all the muggles in the world, and so it went on. Not the most pleasant chap." Hermione ground her teeth in anger.

"What did you expect? Hello, we've destroyed everything you've ever counted as normal because we made a mistake, oh well, never mind, no hard feelings, eh, of course not. Ha ha ha." Hermione looked up at the ceiling. "What about the others?"

"The others, which ones?"

"All of them" shouted Hermione, her face going red.

"Apart from Draco, another boy, Harry Porter, Potter, something like that, he's awake, but he's not saying anything. The seriously injured girl, she's being treated, along with a red haired boy, who seemed to collapse with radiation sickness symptoms shortly after arriving. A red haired girl, she's still asleep, we haven't questioned her yet. A black lad, he's been questioned, and we have allowed him to see his parents. Your own parents are here as well, Hermione."

"What? Where are they?" Asked a bewildered Hermione.

"Outside, you can see them in a minute, you just have to answer a few questions. So, you say this is a 'magic' school, tell me, were you forced into any unsavoury practices, naked dancing, torture, sex rituals, stuff like that?"

"Of course not, don't be stupid, nothing like that, we just learnt things like charms, spells, potions." The soldiers looked at each other curiously. Hermione realised how ridiculous she must have sounded. 

"So, no 'black magic' then, or stuff like that, you know, stuff that could injure or kill people?"

"No, no way, we were students, those people that attacked you were death-eaters, they are muggle-haters, and they were the ones attacking and killing you lot, not us."

"We don't think so, somehow."

"Why not?"

"Our two governments do have contact, you know, if there were these death-eaters, we would have been informed."

"Not necessarily"

"Pardon?"

"Look, most wizards' think muggles are, what's the word, basic, I suppose, they think you couldn't cope with these guys, I guess."

"Hmm, that is unfortunate." Began Mr Smith, "very well, we are finished with you, a medical team will come in here in a minute and neutralise the effects of the anaesthetics, and remove the electrodes, and then you are free to leave with your parents. All you have to do is sign this," he pulled out a sheet of paper, and held it up in front of Hermione.

"What is it?" Asked Hermione, straining her eyes to see what was written on the paper. 

"It is merely a document stating that what you have told us is true, sign that when the medical teams has finished and we will let you out to join your parents."

"That's it?" Asked a puzzled Hermione, "Aren't you going to hold me here or something?"

"What's the point?" Answered Mr Jones, who was closing up his laptop. "Where are you going to go otherwise? Just be thankful that you do not have to stay, trust me on that. Goodbye." Hermione watched with an expressionless face as the two soldiers stood up and went to door. Mr Smith put a thumb on the black square, waited impatiently for a moment, and then the door opened. The two soldiers quickly left the room, leaving the door open for a couple of nurses to come in and position themselves around an anxious looking Hermione.

The Prime Minister sat down at his desk, his eyes gazing blankly into midair, his mind busy going over today's appointments. He had to meet his Scottish Secretary at nine o'clock, and discuss the evacuation procedures that were in place. The effect of the fallout had turned into a worst-case scenario, and the clouds containing the remains of the atomic blast were drifting further south, threatening both Edinburgh and Glasgow, and their four million inhabitants. Around two million of them had already been evacuated by the emergency services and the armed forces, but there were still many problems, particularly on the main motorways, where thousands of abandoned cars littered the roads, and many of the cities' remaining inhabitants were in state of panic.

At ten, he had a videoconference with the leaders of the EU, followed at eleven by one with the US president, then a quick lunch, before reviewing the latest military reports and drafting new press releases. The opposition leader had scored a few more points against him by pointing out the Prime Minister's absence from parliament during the whole affair, and this did not do his confidence and good at all. 

His eyes gazed back to an unopened report on his desk. His secretary had just dumped it on his desk a few minutes ago. He broke the security seal, gave a tired yawn, glanced at the clock (quarter to eight), and turned his attention to the report below.

His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and his let go of the pen he was fiddling with in his left hand. The wizards, they had attacked an army convoy, they had killed twenty-four soldiers, destroyed six armoured vehicles. They _were _hostile. A thousand ideas flashed through his head. They all pointed to one conclusion. His brow narrowed in anger. He picked up the phone on his desk, and began dialling a number, when…

'Pop' and right before the Prime Minister's eyes appeared the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. He looked like the Prime Minister, tired, ragged, and angry.

"What do you think…" Began the wizard, but the Prime Minister interrupted.

"Pardon, what do _I_ think? You have a real nerve." Fudge looked amazed. He stared at the Prime Minister in disbelief. The Prime Minister got up from his seat. "Don't play innocent with me, Fudge, you lying piece of scum, it was you all along wasn't it, yes, its so clear now. 'It was these other wizards, we are fighting them', poppycock, did you think I wouldn't find out? Pretend to be innocent, why don't you. It was you who responsible for all those bombings, and killings, and then saying how cruel and pathetic we were when we tried to defend ourselves, then attack us again. Don't play games with me, I know exactly what your plan is, distract us with some rubbish that it's these 'death eaters' or something, and then stab us in the back." Fudge tried to speak, but words failed him. His face had gone white.

"I get it, you were scared, we are finally beginning to catch up to you with our technology, and you got scared, we might overtake you, and then come down on you, so clever, you know, but I realise our mistakes now. Believe, you are going to regret the day you messed with us. You better leave, before I have you arrested." The Prime Minister finished, and sat down again, he turned on the T.V on his desk as Fudge, still bewildered, prepared to apparate, his face still in a state of shock.

_"Good morning, this is the eight o'clock news, with Moira Stewart. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have news that will shock you, and that seems so unbelievable, that you won't believe it is possible, but I assure you, it is true, and you will see genuine evidence for what I am about to say. Magic is real. It is as real as you or I._

_ _

_This is not a joke broadcast; this news item is being repeated around the world at exactly the same time, so please listen carefully, because the government may stop this programme at any time. As I said, magic is real, very real. A few minutes ago, this station received pictures showing wizards, yes, you heard me correctly, wizards, and using spells to attack British Army personnel. After a heavy firefight, according tour sources, our brave soldiers pushed back the wizards, despite being outgunned and suffering heavy casualties. _

_ _

_It appears that these wizards were responsible for many terrorist attacks in Britain and across the globe, including the infamous Whitehall blast, and the destruction of two RAF tornados in the Scottish no-go area. In fact, ladies and gentlemen, it is believed that the nuclear bomb deployed by the British armed forces was actually being used to attack these wizards._

_ _

_Evidently, these wizards, and to hazard a guess, witches as well, must be hostile to warrant a…_" The transmission cut out, but the damage was done. The Prime Minister heard a 'pop' in his ears, and turned to see that Fudge had disappeared. He pulled out a bottle of Brandy from his desk and began opening it, when his secretary's voice came through the intercom.

"Sir, the switchboard is being rapidly bombarded with calls. I got the French Premier on line one, the US President on line two, the German chancellor on line three, and the Russian President on line four." The Prime Minister finished pouring out a glass from the opened bottle, said thank you to the secretary, and picked up the phone and pressed one.

"Bonjour Monsieur President…"

A/N Not what you was expecting, was it? R/R please.


	12. Reunion

Chapter 12: Reunion

Chapter 12: Reunion 

Hermione followed the soldier silently through the many corridors that made up the building that was currently surrounding and imprisoning her. She did not ask questions. Too many things occupied her mind for any questions to arise. She counted each step. Twelve to the end of one corridor, down fourteen on a staircase, and another thirty down another corridor. Through a door, and then…

Hermione felt crushed as two sets of hands grabbed her tightly. She looked up, and found herself looking into her mother's eyes. They were bloodshot, and puffy, tears trickling gently down her cheeks. Hermione too began to cry, at last she felt safe, and at last she knew what had happened to her parents. She sank into her parent's grip, her face betraying all the emotions and feelings of the last few hours which had now began to force themselves out. Hermione shut her eyes, and hugged her mother tightly. Since she was a baby, she knew that her mother's arms were the place to seek comfort and understanding, no matter what the problem was. Hermione let all the pent up feelings flow out of her, all the painful memories, all the horrible sounds and images that circulated in her head, and pulled herself and her mother as close as possible, before completely dissolving into a sea of tears and sobs.

She felt a hand stroke her hair, and briefly opened her eyes and turned to look at her father. He wasn't crying, but a smile and a welcoming look displayed his joy at that moment, and like his wife, put his large, powerful hands around his daughter and held her closely. Hermione felt his rough stubbly chin press against her forehead, and she felt his strong arms encasing her, protecting her, making sure she would never be hurt again.

The Granger family held their pose for several minutes, letting the experiences of the past three days slowly drain out of them. Then, slowly, each member of the family, like some giant, living three-D jigsaw, let go of each other. 

"Oh, Herm, I am so…" Mrs Granger began, her voice almost hysterical, her eyes concentrating on her daughter in front of her. "I was so worried, I thought they, oh, Hermione, thank god you're ok. Come on, let's get out of here, and let's get home, shall we?" Hermione looked up at her father, he merely nodded.

"Wait," said Hermione, a nagging thought springing up in her mind. "My friends, the rest of them…" Her voice trailed as she turned around to face the soldier. He was as unemotional as the rest of the soldiers she had met. She stared coldly at him, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice. 

"What has happened to the others?" She asked, her eyes widening and unblinking, her eyebrows arching. The soldier didn't answer, and simply passed a sheet of paper to Hermione. On it were the names of all of her former classmates. Her eyes scanned down the list, looking at each name, and the little caption that accompanied entry.

_Brown, Lavender: Sustained serious injuries in blast, numerous broken bones and heavy lacerations and burns, currently in a critical, but stable condition. _

_ _

__Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief. Lavender was okay. She continued down the list.

_Crabbe, ? : Multiple fractures, currently under sedation, undergoing surgery. _

_Granger, Hermione: Treated for minor injuries, no apparent side effects from the fall out. Questioning complete, waiting for pick up_

_ _

__Hermione gave an incensed scowl at the list. Curiosity made her keep reading.

_Goyle, Gregory: Minor injuries, shock has been diagnosed._

_Longbottom, Neville: Treated for minor injuries. Massive physiological trauma has been diagnosed. Treatment pending._

_Malfoy, Draco: Minor injuries, currently being held for questioning._

_Parkinson, ? : Major burns, currently undergoing surgery._

_Patil, Parvati: Minor injuries, currently being questioned._

_Potter, Harry: Treated for minor injuries, no apparent side effects from the fall out. Questioning complete, waiting for pick up._

_Thomas, Dean: Treated for minor injuries, no apparent side effects from the fall out. Questioning complete, released on 8: 30 am 23/2/96._

_Weasley, Ginny: Major injuries including multiple fractures, currently undergoing surgery. _

_ _

__So Ginny was okay, at least they were all okay. Hermione swallowed, her throat was dry, having not had a drink for a considerable amount of time. She continued down the list.

_Weasley, Ronald: Acute radiation poisoning detected, currently in critical and unstable condition._

_ _

__Hermione felt her stomach drop a few inches. She stared blankly at the words, and then clutched the paper with trembling hands. Ron was in real trouble. Terrible thoughts began to cloud her mind; the world around her seemed to blur, and images of the past four and a half years, with Ron and Harry, began to come into focus, spinning through her mind like an old slide show. In all those lessons, the quidditch practises, those lunch times in summer when they all sat on the great rolling greens lawns and Hogwarts, talking about what would happen in the future, what homework they had to do. Hermione began to grasp the concept that that part of her life was over, that she would never go back to that existence. 

She collapsed once into tears, falling ungracefully to her knees, and cupping her face with her hands, the piece of paper falling onto the floor beside her. She shut everything else out, and she did not notice when the door opened again.

"Hermione?" sounded a familiar voice. She looked up.

"Harry" she mumbled through her sobs. She rose slowly, and felt Harry rush forward and help her up. Harry looked worse than Hermione, his face was worn, and large shadows lay under his eyes. He pulled Hermione into a hug, and softly comforted her. He closed his eyes, and let Hermione cry on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, as Hermione's own strength gave way, and looked up at the Grangers, who were watching their daughter with worried expressions. 

"Lets get you out of here, shall we?" Whispered Harry, and turning Hermione so that she was facing the same direction as himself, and with his right arm supporting her body, he walked her out of another door into an underground car park. The Grangers followed behind them, Mrs Granger running up along Hermione's other side, and began helping Harry get her to the car. The Granger's had been a car by the army, an old Ford estate, to get back home in. Harry levered Hermione into the rear left-hand seat,Mr Granger went round and got in the drivers seat, and Mrs Granger got in beside her daughter. 

She got out again as Harry was turning away. 

"Harry, do you want to come back with us?" She called. Harry turned round in surprise; he didn't expect to hear that.

"No thank you, Mrs Granger, I'll stay here." He answered, but wasn't too sure about it.

"Well, you know with what's happened and everything…" She began.

"What's happened?" Asked Harry.

"You don't know, yeah you wouldn't, the muggle government has declared war against the wizards." Harry's face betrayed his disbelief.

"What, are you sure?" He replied, a hint of shock in his voice.

"Yes, we heard it on the news a few minutes ago, they say its you who are responsible for all those attacks, and that's why the army used that bomb, and, oh Harry, I'm so sorry." Harry gazed blankly at Mrs Granger, her face full of regret and sorrow. He felt his insides shake. He didn't know what to do. "Harry, please, come with us, otherwise I read to think what will happen to you." Harry, still in a state of disbelief, slowly made his way to the front left-hand seat of the car, and sat down. He didn't speak again; he just stared out the front windscreen. Hermione was still sobbing in the backseat, and Mrs Granger tried to comfort her. Mr Granger started the car, and drove out of the car park, down a small road, passed a security checkpoint, and sped out of the army base as fast as the car would go.

At six o'clock that night, the Prime Minister believed he had just the busiest day of his life. He had answered calls non-stop all day, confirming rumours, releasing some details, and arranging a meeting with the UN Security Council that would meet here in the conference room in the Peak District Command bunker. Another top secret landed on his desk, and he muttered bitterly as he opened. His face contorted with disgust and hatred as he read into the document. 

_Nottingham attacked…at least 6,000 dead; maybe 10,000 wounded_..._ 40% of the city-destroyed…attack by a hundred or so wizards; their casualties numbering a dozen at best…military units arrived too late… TA and emergency services over the entire region have been mobilised…_

Another hour passed, and the leaders of the US, Russia, China, and France, along with the Prime Minister, sat down at their relative places. 

"Good evening, Gentlemen, let us begin." 

"Hi John," Began The US President, "look, are you sure these guys are hostile, I mean, we ain't been havin' problems with these guys back over in the States."

"Trust me, they are." And the Prime Minister passed round the report that had been given to him an hour ago.

"Holy, Jesus John, I didn't realise." 

"Yeah, I know, I got the report around an hour ago."

"Zo," began the French Premier "what are ve going to do about zis?"

"Well, we have to consider taking offensive military action."

"Excuse me, Mr Prime Minister," the Russian President spoke up. "But how are we going to take offensive action against them, they are very good at hiding, you know."

"Yes, well, lets take a look at what we know. We know that the largest wizarding communities are in southern Asia and Africa, followed closely by Latin America and the old European powers, and then into North America and Russia. I say this because we will have to fight together if we are to win this. And that means, the transfer of equipment and manpower." The US, Russian, and Chinese presidents stared piercingly at each other. "We also know that our tactical and communication abilities exceed theirs, however they possess much better transportation and medical facilities. We also know that radiation has a negative effect on their magical abilities…"

"Excusez moi, monsieur, but how do you know radiation has an effect on zese people?"Asked the French Premier, his brow furrowed.

"Tell me Jacques, does your government have the 'Schruder' document?"

"Ze what?" The US and Russian Presidents shifted uneasily in their seats.

"It's a document, concerning some experiments that were carried out by the Russians over forty years ago. The US, us and the Russian government have a copy, and you and the Chinese will also now be getting one soon. Essentially, it is about this German doctor who did some experiments on magic. Hang on" The Prime Minister pulled out another top secret folder and opened it. "Hans Schruder, born 1919, graduated from Berlin University in 1940, with a degree in medical physics. Was recruited by the Nazi party science division in July 1941. In January 1942 he was assigned to figure out why certain prisoners in the concentration camps were surviving much longer than others.

Now Schruder, you see, had a brother who was a wizard. He spotted straight away that these 'hardy' survivors were indeed wizards. He spent a few months travelling round the camps, and by that June he submitted a report to his superiors. Now, the Germans weren't stupid, they weren't about to let this opportunity pass up. He was ordered to study magic and learn everything that he could about them. He managed to study around a hundred different wizards. He conducted some brutal experiments on them, seeing if removing parts of their brains had an effect, whether or not being electrocuted diminished their abilities. He learnt a couple of things, such that a certain part of the brain that we do not use is the vital difference in physiology that's allows them to manipulate magic.

By July 1944, however, his work wasn't going to schedule, and with the allied armies pressing in on three fronts, his research was curtailed, and he disappeared with all his notes. No one can find him and he is presumed dead. Then, in 1948, he reappears in Russia, and begins his work again. This time he decides to see what happened when wizards were exposed to a nuclear blast. In 1952 he used a group of around 30 wizards and witches and placed at various points around a nuclear explosion. Those that survived, despite suffering heavy burns, managed to somehow avoid the usual radiation side effects. Another interesting thing was that various magical items placed around the same explosion disintegrated into ash, even when their surroundings were almost untouched.

Following more research along these lines, Schruder came to believe that magic had a similar effect on the body as radiation, and that radiation acts like an anti particle to magic. Hence, a wizards body can take a considerably more amount of radiation before they become ill. This also explains why they live longer, because their cells can regenerate more efficiently than ours can. However, the radiation also decreases their magical ability. All the test subjects were found to have lost around 50 to 70 percent of their magical ability. 

Eventually, Schruder came up with an idea, a device that could manipulate magic, tap into the energy source the wizards were using, possibly even a new source of power, or even the possibility of a new weapon. You have to remember, this was the height of the cold war. In 1960 he managed to tap into this energy, and kept it stable for one and a half seconds, and then. BOOM, a massive explosion, maybe around a megaton or more, completely destroyed the facility, killing Schruder and nearly five hundred other scientists. His notes survived in Moscow, and we were able to 'purchase' them off a Russian intelligence officer for £10 million. We passed a copy onto the Americans. That, gentlemen, is why we used a nuclear weapon, we had to make sure that no magic was left, but it seems, we failed, and now we have a war on our hands."

The Prime Minister looked up at his counterparts. They were all staring back at him.

"Very well," Began the US President, "lets get to work…"


	13. Hostilities

Chapter 13: Hostilities

Chapter 13: Hostilities

The Grangers and Harry made their way south in their old Estate. The motorway was strangely deserted; it was usually full of traffic moving between London and the North. In fact, they only saw one car travelling in the opposite direction, and a slow moving convoy of four large tanks on the back of low loaders which they passed at ten o'clock.

A military checkpoint stopped them around fifty yards short of a signpost that read 'Nottingham 12 miles'. In the distance on the left of the Motorway there was an eerie red skyline. Mr Granger got out of the car as two army helicopters passed overhead. He walked up to the TA officer who was in charge of the roadblock, and had a quick conversation. Harry shifted uneasily as the officer stared at him through the window, but he turned and continued talking. After five minutes, Mr Granger returned to the car, and informed them of what the officer had told him. 

"They say it has got something to do with the wizards, but they are not saying what. I'm afraid we've to go up to Leeds, and drive down to Manchester and then back south. Sorry, that's all they told me." He looked pitifully at his daughter, who had been crying consistently the whole way down, and half-heartedly turned the car around, and headed north again to Leeds.

Carrick grumbled as he checked the battle plans, four radiation showers and just two hours sleep in thirty-six hours did not him the most pleasant guy to be around. Now the British army was engaged in its second operation against the wizards, a large full-scale assault involving more than a thousand of the best troops in Britain. Carrick wasn't bothered what his troops would do, they were the best in the world. He had eighty members of the 22nd Special Air Service, better known as the SAS, the worlds most experienced and decorated special forces, fresh from Sierra Leone, backed up by 500 members of the 2nd Parachute regiment, and another 600 men of the Welsh Guards. The SAS would go in first, securing the main streets, and then the rest would raid all the structures and secure the perimeter.

Carrick stared at the single entrance point. An abandoned, grotty looking shop that had an old 'for sale' sign over the window. Not exactly imposing, but superb camouflage. The SAS lined up either side of the entrance, their Steyr AUG assault rifles ready and loaded in their arms, and many various gadgets were spread across their black Kevlar/titanium armour. Down the shopping centre were the other soldiers, looking slightly out of place in their grey/black urban warfare uniforms. They too were ready, and Carrick checked his watch for the last time.

5

4

3

2

1

"Go" he yelled.

"So," concluded John Major, at the end of the Security Council's meeting. "I will make the announcement tomorrow in Geneva to the rest of the UN. I am glad we all agree that these 'wizards' are a threat to international security, and we will have to neutralise them. Very well, I will see you all in Switzerland tomorrow, oh Bill, could you wait a while, and I need to have a word with you about the 'Powell.' The rest of the Premiers left the room, leaving just the British Prime Minister and the US President. 

"Yes, John, I know that the Powell was destroyed by the wizards to try and create a war between our two nations, and I am relieved they failed, for your sake of course."

"Thank you Bill, but we are still unsure of what this 'black cloud' is, we know it is powerful, its already destroyed a seven thousand ton warship, and two top-of-the-range fighter jets. Our scientists still have no idea what it is."

"Yeah, still, I have to get some sleep, and I think you need some too, and, John, we are behind you guys, don't worry about that."

"Look, trust me, we can handle our problem, and you can sort out yours before we start on joint operations. In fact, a few minutes ago, we launched a second offensive against them."

"Hmm, you guys don't hang around, do you? Good luck John." The two men shook hands, and the US President left the conference room. John sat down, took out another bottle of brandy, and thought whether or not to become an alcoholic.

A/N, sorry its short, but its there, so don't get annoyed. Please review, please, come on, I'm British for heavens sake.


	14. Mobilisation

Chapter 14: Mobilisation

Chapter 14: Mobilisation 

** **

A/N Sorry the last one was so short; I'll try and make it up to you.

Carrick scanned the abandoned streets with his now tired eyes. He moved from house to house, looking in the shop windows, staring blankly at the broken down doors. There had been no one around when the SAS made their initial sweep, and subsequent door-to-door raids by the Para's found that the entire area evacuated. The wizards had guessed the army's move, and had left them without a clue where they had gone. His superiors would not be pleased. Not that Carrick really cared; all he wanted was a hot bath and his bed.

Nevertheless, he had a job to do. He signed the various forms, such as the unit lists and the acquisition documents, and walked out of the wizarding world through the portal he had passed through three hours earlier. He strolled over to the mobile command unit, and began pouring out a coffee as he mentally prepared a memo to his superiors. He filled the cup, and sat at a portable table and opened up a laptop computer that a junior NCO passed to him. He slowly sipped the warm, black drink as he brought up his secure mail link to the MOD. 

He began typing, but a knock disturbed him. He looked up. There was no one around, apart from the soldiers standing guard at the entrance 'shop' and a busy looking lieutenant who looked up at Carrick with a puzzled expression. Carrick indicated with his hand not to do anything. He took out his pistol, and slowly got up. He concentrated his ears for a minute, trying to pick out any more unusual sounds.

Then he heard a soft thud, like a footstep, no more than ten feet behind him. He instantly turned and shot roughly where the sound was coming from. He heard a low yell, followed by the boxes of equipment in front of him falling over like they had been hit by something. Then, a foot appeared out of thin air a yard in front of Carrick. It looked like it had slipped out of a cloak, judging by the strange, silvery material that extended a few inches above the thought. 

As the busy lieutenant and a another soldier stepped forward, Carrick gently pulled back the material, revealing the other foot, the invisible person's knees, mid rift, chest and arms, and then finally the man's face. He was dead, his eyelids were closed and blood seeped from one corner of his mouth. Three bullet holes silently dripped on the man's chest, all from Carrick's pistol. His clothing was unmistakably that of a wizard. He didn't look that old, short black hair sitting on top of a narrow face, which now rested lazily upon his left shoulder. Carrick lifted the body up, and the wizard's wand fell out the man's pocket.

Carrick looked up at the gathering crowd of soldiers. He re-holstered his gun, and ordered the body to be removed. He turned, and sat down again at his desk. He picked up his coffee, and began drinking again, but now in large, almost savage gulps. He left the message un-typed, before finally returning to it. He finished it off, sent the message, and crashed out on the desk, the remnants of his drink gently spilling over the floor around him.

Fudge walked silently into his office, before dropping into his chair and flinging his hat into a corner. He took a few parchments on his desk and began reading them again. Nothing new, the muggles had secured the Hogwarts/Hogsmeade area, their news reports full of information about the wizarding world, and no contact from their Prime Minister. His world had collapsed; the neatly ordered structure he had created had been blown to dust, literally. 

He had now been forced to evacuate the entire Ministry to France, where he might try and regroup and properly assess their loses. The muggles he knew, had overran Diagon alley an hour or so before, but they had just lost contact with their spy. He didn't know what to do; now the whole worldwide Muggle community knew of them and wished them to be destroyed. He just could not see what action he could take.

He could have used Dumbledore right now, but he was dead, they were all dead. Fudge shook his head with disbelief. He had not come to terms with the true impact of the attack yet, and he doubted he ever could. 

Then it came to him. Resign. Yes, resign, lose all this pressure, lose all these worries, let someone who knew what they were doing take charge. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill from his drawer, and began writing.

A few hours later, and the British Prime Minister left the main hall in the UN Building in Geneva, a confident, almost smug smile on his face as he descended the stairs. He had won. He had managed to avert the world's attention onto the problems with the magical community, whilst making it clear that they were the aggressors. Nottingham would prove to be the wizards' biggest mistake. 

He walked into his office, before calling up his Defence Minister, Sir Brain Dunford, to discuss the situation back home, with General Morgan also being invited to advise and offer his opinion.

"Well," said Dunford, "we've mobilised the entire TA, giving ourselves a ground force of around 250,000 land based combat troops, backed up by around 400 armoured units and 800 pieces of artillery. We have also mobilised the Hawk squadrons into the ground attack role, as well as pulling back our Tornado attack wing from the gulf. This should give us an airpower of around 600 fighter aircraft. The Navy has also been put on alert, and all three carriers are out at sea this very instance. So, we are ready for any threat, providing our American friends are okay with this."

"Sure," replied Morgan, "we will still require the use of your home, Cypriot, and Saudi Arabian bases for our own purposes, just to make sure certain regimes do not take advantage of the situation and destabilise the region."

"That's understandable. Very well," concluded the Prime Minister, "good job Dunford, now…hang on." The Prime Minister got up and pulled a message from his fax machine. He read it briefly, before mildly cursing, and sitting back down. "Looks like our wizard friends are one step ahead of us, they pulled out their citizens from their London community, and they've disappeared somewhere. Damn it. Oh well, we've got to get a move on." He gave a formal goodbye to the two men, before beginning to pack his bag to get ready to fly back to London. It was going to be a tiring few days, and he needed the support of everyone to keep him going.

Good, no? Review, please? 


	15. Revenge

Chapter 15: Revenge  
  
A/N thank u all for your kind reviews, more, need more, can't sleep, need reviews, must have reviews, hahahahaha... sorry. Me bad.  
  
  
Harry woke up slowly in the Granger's spare room. He fumbled for his glasses as his mind cast back over the last week or so. From having lessons to watching the aftermath of nuclear holocaust, to being captured by the army and finally arriving here at the Grangers house in Surrey. He looked up at the clock on the wall. 12:00. Better get up, he thought, not that he had anything to do. Then he realised, Hermione. He almost leapt out of bed, before getting tangled in the sheets and falling clumsily on the floor. He got up, nursed a bruise, and headed to Hermione's room.  
He found Hermione lying silently on her bed, no movement apart from the steady, hoarse breathing that lifted her body slightly. Her mother sat next to her, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Harry doubted if either of them had slept the previous night.  
"Hello, Harry," said Mrs Granger weakly, and she barely turned from her vigil. "She's okay, she's just upset. She's worried about your friend Ron..." Harry's heart gave a leap. He had put Ron to the back of his mind, seeing Hermione in this state, but familiar worries came back to haunt him. "We haven't heard anything about him, I'm afraid. Do you want to talk to her, maybe you can say something else to comfort her, I don't know, I still can not understand what has happened. I'll go downstairs." Mrs Granger got up, leant down and hugged her daughter, and turned and walked tiredly past Harry.   
He sat down on Mrs Grangers old chair. He looked at his friend's blank eyes, which now looked like two very dark, deep, black abysses. They did not move, nor did her eyelids shut when Harry moved a little closer. Her lips had shrivelled and had lost their colour, and they opened slightly as she breathed. She did not make any attempt to move or say anything.  
"Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively. She did not reply. "Hermione, please, say something?" Nothing. Harry got up, and put his arms around her. He held her tightly, hoping that his display may provoke a response. He waited, and hoped. Then he felt her move, and suddenly her arms swung around his body, and she held on so tightly that Harry couldn't get up.  
"Don't...please, don't go..." She whispered, every word sounding like it took her a considerable effort.  
"I...won't," choked Harry uneasily, "I won't go." Her felt her arms loosen, and he carefully got up. Hermione herself tried to sit up, and Harry put an arm under her back to help her up. She looked at Harry, her eyes now alert, scanning him to see if he was all right.   
"Oh god Harry, I don't know what...its over, isn't it?"  
"What?" Asked Harry, looking concerned.  
"Hogwarts, our whole world, its over, everything..."  
"I guess so." Replied Harry, half-heartedly, he had spent too much time worrying about his friends to think about the future of his magical education, but now Hermione's thought began to dawn on him too.  
"And Ron, do you think he's okay, I'll die if he isn't." She began to cry again, Harry found it surprising she had any tears left.  
"I know, I know, " Harry comforted her, pulling her closer. "He'll be okay, I know he will be." Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head on Harry's chest. Harry looked over her hair at a relieved Mrs Granger who had come back into the room.  
  
  
The temporary office of the British Minister of Magic was full with about fifty tired wizards and witches. Most were engaged in conversation, mostly about why they had come here, and also about the muggle invasion of Diagon Alley. Suddenly, the door of the office opened, to reveal the new Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy. He had been handed the reins an hour ago by Fudge, who had disappeared. Lucius walked into the room, his grin betraying both his pleasure at the new appointment, but also the scheme he had to get back at the muggles.   
"Gentlemen, and Ladies, it is time to strike back." He quietened down the applause. "If they want to fight, then we will fight, and we will have revenge for what happened at Hogwarts." More applause. "Very well, this is the plan. We know the muggles have evacuated their major cities of Glasgow and Edinburgh. Well, in between these cities is the village of Dunblaichlane. We'll take camp there, and when the muggles come, we will destroy them."  
"Err, one problem," began one of the other wizards, a former Auror, who now worked with the Department of Mysteries. "Remember what they did to our Hogwarts." One or two of the people near him shuffled uncomfortably.  
"We have monitored the muggles' news services, and many of their allies would not be pleased if they used the bomb again. Plus, I doubt if they would destroy their own cities just to kill a few of us.  
"Yeah, well, we don't know what else they have got, I mean, what if they something worse than that?"  
"Listen, I'm starting to think you do not want to attack the muggles, scared, are you?"  
"No, I merely do not wish..."  
"Listen here," yelled Malfoy, slamming his fist into the desk in front of him. "We will attack them, and we will get our revenge, is that understood."  
"Yes, Minister." Replied the man quietly, bowing to his superior.  
"Good. We will move out tonight. I will stay here and direct operations. Good luck, and get some of them for me. And if you ever doubt, if you think of showing mercy, think of Hogwarts, think of all those poor, innocent children, your wives, your parents, those who had never even hurt a fly in their lives, and remember who, without the slightest compassion or remorse, obliterated them off the face of the Earth. Goodbye." The other wizards and witches Disapparated, and Malfoy himself got ready to Disapparate, but not to where the others were going. He pulled his cloak over his head, and Apparated to Azkaban.  
"Is it done?" Asked a low voice from a figure with his back to Malfoy. The light cast few shadows over his snake-like features.  
"Yes, my Lord. Now our enemies will annihilate each other. I must admit, sire, that I am impressed with your resourcefulness, particularly when our first plan became unviable with our attack on the muggles. In fact, the situation has appeared to turn out for the best."  
"Yes, but we have much to do. How is Dunford?"  
"Still co-operating, last time I checked, my Lord."  
"Good, Lucius, I am tired. You may go." Malfoy left the room. Voldemort continued staring into the fire, before walking through it into the room beyond. It was a small, windowless room, with the floor coated with straw and dirt. In one corner, a woman and her small child slept on a pile of dirty and worn blankets. 'Time for a little fun', thought the Dark Lord, as he raised his wand...  
  
  
The Prime Minister was in his office in the Houses of Parliament in London. He was glad to be back in his office, even in the circumstances. He reclined his seat with a cup of tea in his hand, which he gently sipped as he looked out onto the Thames. You couldn't have told there was a war on, well apart from the 'Duke' class Frigate 'Kent', and the circling Lynx's that patrolled over Westminster.  
The door opened behind him, revealing two Military generals. The Prime Minister turned his chair to meet them.  
"Michael, Paul, always a pleasure, what do you have to report?"  
"Sir, a Jaguar reconnaissance plane picked up a wizard encampment in an abandoned village around fifteen miles from Glasgow. Further IR scans indicated a force of around four to six thousand individuals. We have sent the SAS in to man OP's to confirm it."  
"Crap," replied the Prime Minister, "okay, what are we going to do about it?"  
"Well, obviously a nuclear attack is out of the question, so a ground attack is, I'm afraid the only option. We have sent a memo to Dunford, but no one can get him at the moment, so we felt we would bring this directly to you."  
"Yeah, okay, but our plan of response is?"  
"Well, a lot of our ground forces are tied up defending key Military and civilian facilities, so we are looking at sparing maybe 8000 troops drawn from the twelfth, fifteenth, and fifty-second Brigades, as well as maybe 80 MBT's of the Royal Armoured Corp and 12 batteries of light field guns from the Royal Artillery. That should give us an advantage of two-to-one. We also have air support available, including Tornados, Harriers, and Lynx helicopter gun ships."  
"Looks like you've got it covered, who going to be commanding this force?"  
"Corporal Carrick. He already has experience with combat against these people, so he is the best guy for the job."  
"Alright. Well, I'll leave it in your capable hands. Inform me directly of any changes or movements. Godspeed, gentlemen." The generals left the room, passing the Minister's secretary, who came up and dropped a few notes onto the PM's desk.  
"What are you thinking, sir?" She asked pleasantly.  
"I just thought, if they make a movie of this, who'll play me?"  
"No idea sir, but if its Hollywood, you'll be twenty years younger, have more hair, and made a dozen patriotic speeches before relying on the Americans to bail you out." She smiled, the PM looked bemused.  
"Put a lot of thought into it, haven't you?"  
"Not a lot else to think about." She said politely, before turning and leaving the office.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N The tension builds, doesn't it? You know what to do.  
  
  
  



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